


1950

by unkindravens



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst, Description of Injuries, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Light Choking, M/M, New York City, Queer History, Slow Burn, off-screen violence, references to past abuse/trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkindravens/pseuds/unkindravens
Summary: Set in 1950s New York, Patrick Brewer has a good job and loving fiancee. He meets David Rose, gallery owner, and his world changes.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Stevie Budd & Patrick Brewer
Comments: 293
Kudos: 310





	1. Not Changing

**Author's Note:**

> RESEARCH: _Gay Metropolis_ by Charles Kaiser  
>  _When Brooklyn Was Queer_ by Hugh Ryan  
> Documentary _Before Stonewall_  
>  A _lot_ of newspaper/blog/wiki sources
> 
> E RATING: This is **not** a smut story. The sex just happens to be in detail.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: There’s coding of past abuse as well as off-screen violence. I’ll give you a heads up in the chapter notes. Mind the tags.
> 
> TIME: This takes place sometime during the 1950s. I’ve taken great pains to avoid anachronisms, but some may exist. Same goes for geography.
> 
> TITLE: Work inspired by King Princess’s [1950](https://open.spotify.com/track/0MsuUFDdKP6d3aq5jBUdTK?si=grd9fdAbRkW8q8hDEnaYuw)
> 
> THANKS: This story was made possible with the support of kiranerys42 (beta), olivebranchesandredwine (cheerleader), and by readers like you.

_On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy.  
_ _-E. B. White_

  
  


Patrick Brewer. Junior partner. Own office. New business cards. A secretary. A mini-bar. A stack of high-profile clients.

Patrick looked at the rain falling on downtown New York from his eleventh floor window. The men upstairs made the announcement this morning. At thirty, he was the youngest partner at Price Waterhouse. Accounting wunderkind.

“And the shortest!” some large bear of a man from legal said. He slapped Patrick on the back, sloshing bourbon on his shoes. Patrick was aware of how he looked. Small. Curly, russet hair barely under control. "Baby face,” the steno pool had cooed when he first started. Patrick was also aware he could use this to his advantage. People would underestimate him. Feel secure. Patrick could then reach up, and before they knew what happened, pull down all of their secrets.

Patrick crossed the modest room and sat behind his modest desk. He fussed with his pens, ink blotter, and picture of his fiancée. He wanted everything to have a place. He wanted to not be still drunk from lunch. As meals went, it was much of the same. He’s been engaged _how_ long? When was he going to marry that girl already? She won’t wait around forever, you know. Make an honest woman of her.

He had begged off the raucous celebration upstairs. The same day as Patrick’s promotion, someone had landed the Lucky Strike account and everyone was preparing for baptism by cash. He had wanted to go after that account, but it was given to a senior partner. Well, he was a partner now, ordained to reach for any account he wanted.

At five o’clock the commotion upstairs rallied on, and Patrick grabbed his briefcase, coat, and hat. He hoped no one would notice his absence and that he could get a cab. 

***

“Congratulations!” As soon as he opened the apartment door, Rachel ran to him. He grinned and picked her up by her thin waist, spinning her around.

He kissed her on the cheek and set her down. “Thank you, darling.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Rachel was perfection, imported from their childhood homes in Westchester. She had kind, brown eyes, not unlike his own. She was slight, even shorter than Patrick, with auburn hair collected in precise rings around her shoulders.

“I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in,” she said, untying an apron from her waist. “I wanted to make dinner for the newest partner at PW.”

“Junior partner,” he corrected, shrugging off his coat. Rachel took it and his hat, placing them on the coat rack next to the door.

“Tomato, potato. It still says ‘partner’ on your door.”

“You’ll have to come in and see the new office.”

“Corner?”

“Not even close. How was work?”

“Have you ever had a first-grader ask you why his fire hose got hard every time he looked at a cute girl?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Then I think you had the better day.”

The brisket was only moderately burned. Rachel was charmingly inept in the kitchen. Patrick’s mother tried to teach her, but even Marcy Brewer couldn’t reign in this passion for extra seasoning or higher temperatures (shorter cook time!).

“Kathy’s getting married,” Rachel said over pie (bought from the corner diner, a small mercy).

“Your cousin Kathy? Didn’t she just start seeing what’s-his-name?”

“It’s been a year.”

“Still, that doesn’t seem like enough time to know someone.”

Rachel spun the diamond ring on her left hand. “I guess some people just figure it out faster. I think it’s romantic.”

Patrick shoveled cherry pie into his mouth. “Changing your life like that?” he said, mouth full. “After a few months?”

“Maybe it’s not changing your life,” Rachel said. She collected the empty dishes from the kitchen table. “It’s starting it.”

Patrick made his way to the living room and sat on the sofa with a sigh. The apartment was small, but nice. Blue walls, new grey carpeting. He let Rachel and his mother decorate, so tasteful still-lifes hung on the walls and the furniture was all pastel. He turned on the news. It was a nice splurge for himself—the new television, even though it took up a lot of floor space. A little bit of cured glass surrounded by oak. He enjoyed watching ball games. Baseball always managed to clear his mind.

When the news broadcast came to sports, Rachel sidled up to Patrick, wearing only her slip and heels. She held out a hand.

“Come on, I wanna take the new partner out for a spin.”

“Junior partner,” Patrick corrected, taking her hand and standing. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Okay, maybe don’t use the word ‘junior’ when I’m trying to get you into bed.”

Patrick chuckled. “Noted. It’s just, I’m pretty tired. We had a huge lunch and you know I can’t keep up with the martini guys.”

Rachel’s smile faded and she took a step back. “Sure, of course. It’s been a long day. How about I draw a bath and you can relax with a good book?”

“Sounds good.” He lightly kissed her lips. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Rachel nodded, turning away.


	2. Constancy

Patrick stood, buttoning his blue wool jacket, as his office door opened and his new client entered.

The man’s black hair was coiffed, adding inches to his already tall frame. He had thick, manicured brows above dark, inky eyes and a lopsided grin. His face wore the stubble of a man who didn’t work a nine-to-five.

He extended his hand, four silver rings stacked on his long fingers. The sleeve of his cream cable knit sweater exposed the dark hair of his wrists. Patrick took his hand. His grip was firm, but his skin was soft.

“David Rose.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Rose. I’m Patrick Brewer.” Patrick gestured to the chair across from him.

“Please, call me David.”

David’s smile grew, wrinkling his eyes and drawing a dimple on his cheek. How long had he been starting?

“David, you own the gallery on 57th.”

David nodded, crossing his legs. He wore tight black dungarees and spotless black Converse All Star basketball shoes. Patrick didn’t get the impression he played basketball.

“I’ve been part of a few co-ops on Tenth,” he said, “but this is the first gallery I’m running on my own.”

“Congratulations!” Congratulations?

“Thank you, Mr. Brewer. We’re getting ready for our first opening, but I realized I needed someone to handle the business end of, well, the business. Artists I can deal with, but numbers…”

“I’m a numbers guy!” Numbers guy? “And, please, call me Patrick.”

“Patrick,” David repeated, his name pouring like treacle from David’s mouth. “It sounds like I’ve found the right man.” 

The room suddenly felt small, as if there were only room for David Rose. He was Alice and David was the Cheshire Cat.

“So, David, did you bring your financials with you?”

David stared blankly. “My financials? Aren’t you my financials?”

Patrick chuckled. “No, I mean, I will be covering that for you, but I need any receipts or other expenditures you’ve made so far.”

“Oh. Well… I did not know that.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair. “I could stop by the gallery tomorrow and get the paperwork. If you’ll be in…”

“I’ll be there. I have a file in my office.” David smiled. “Several files in fact. And piles of papers.”

“Look forward to sorting through it.”

***

Patrick arrived at Rose Gallery at ten o’clock Tuesday morning. He knocked, and was answered with silence.

“Shit, sorry!” David Rose dashed toward the gallery, portfolio in one hand, leather satchel in the other. “I told you the meeting would be a ‘soft’ ten.”

“So you did.” Patrick grabbed the bag from him as David unlocked the glass door. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

Patrick followed David through the expanse of the gallery. It was overrun with drop cloths and ladders. Paintings leaned against white walls. David’s shoes clicked on black marble.

David held a black curtain open for him. “You can put that anywhere. It just has my essentials.” David hoisted the portfolio on a white, round table. “Why do women get to have pocketbooks, but, as men, we’re only allowed what we can fit in a couple of pants pockets?”

“Never thought of it that way.” Patrick placed the bag on the table. “This is a nice setup.”

It was a sizable office with the table and chairs, a sofa, and a large mahogany desk with a black leather-back chair.

“Thanks.” David shuffled several stacks of papers on his desk. “I like having a place just for myself.”

“Should I conduct my business elsewhere?” Patrick smiled.

“What? No. You’re my business… person, so it’s your space too.” David circled his desk with an armful of loose papers. “There’s a coffee pot in the corner and no feet on the furniture.”

“Noted. I’m more of a tea drinker myself.”

David dropped the papers on the table and added a leather-bound ledger. “Then there’s a diner across the street.” He looked from the desk to the table. “I think that’s everything."

“I have to do some artist hand-holding for an hour or so, will you be okay here?”

“Yes, I think I have plenty to keep me busy.” Patrick looked at the pile of paperwork.

“At least I had the forethought to hire a money person before I open in two weeks.”

“Two weeks? That’s… very soon.”

David’s lopsided smile appeared again. “Get to work then.”

For the next two hours, Patrick made four stacks of paper and tore out the first pages of the ledger for a fresh start. The gallery door opened and David was back in the office.

“How’s it going?” he asked. He took off his overcoat and hung it on a coat rack next to the doorway.

“I think we’re getting to the bottom of this,” Patrick said, rubbing his neck.

David hurried to his desk, clearing space. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you to use the desk.”

Patrick wanted to refuse, but the plush chair looked far too inviting. “Thank you.” He carefully transferred the stacks of paper and sat. “This is a nice desk.”

David collapsed on the sofa near the work area. “Can’t take credit for the monstrosity, it was a gift from my father.”

“Johnny Rose?”

“One and the same. It’s to put my degree to good use. He’s been reminding me of the tuition for the past ten years.”

“Let me guess,” Patrick said, “art history?”

“Yes, though that was an easy guess considering where we are right now. As for you, business something?”

Patrick laughed. “Majored in business something at the Wharton School.” Patrick flipped through the empty pages of the ledger. “What’s it like, being Johnny Rose’s son?” He winced. “I’m sorry—that’s a rude question.”

“No, it’s fine. Everyone wants to know what it’s like to grow up in a film empire.” David stretched his arms across the back of the couch. The hem of his black sweater rose and showed a glance of pale skin. “My parents weren’t exactly ‘hands-on’ in our childhood.”

“Our?”

“I have a sister.”

“Is she becoming a Broadway legend like your mother?”

David laughed. “No, she’s a globe-trotting trust fund baby. Which isn’t a judgement, I’m just a trust fund kid who stays in New York.”

“Do you see them much? Your parents?”

“God, no. I try to avoid the North Shore as much as possible. And the Hamptons four weeks in the summer.” He gazed at Patrick. “Let me guess, you grew up in some bucolic suburb with supportive parents.”

“Westchester.”

David nodded. “Well, being Johnny Rose’s son isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There’s a _lot_ of pressure to be successful. I don’t think he had a life goal of having a son sleeping his way to the top of the New York art scene.”

Patrick cleared his throat.

“Fuck, that was more information than you needed. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We should… get to know each other, since we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future.”

David regarded Patrick for a moment. “Are you comfortable?”

“What?”

“In that suit, are you comfortable? You can relax here. Dress down.”

Patrick looked at his grey suit. “Is there something wrong with the way I’m dressed?”

“You just look very business-like is all.”

“I _am_ business-like.”

David sighed and stood. “Here, give me your coat.”

Patrick wriggled out of his jacket and handed it to David.

“Loosen your tie, roll up your sleeves,” David said. “I don’t know how you men dress like this everyday.”

“You get used to it.” Patrick loosened his tie and opened the top two buttons. He rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt.

“See, isn’t that more comfortable?”

“It is, thank you.”

“You’re so polite.” David pulled up one of the chairs to the font of the desk and sat.

“What’s wrong with being polite?”

“Nothing. It’s cute,” David said.

“Cute?”

“No, I mean it’s… nice. You can just be yourself here, you know.”

“Myself is is very polite.”

David smiled. “So I gathered. Well, in the spirit of getting to know each other, what do you like?”

“Like?”

“In general,” David said, hands dancing through the air. “What was your childhood like, what do you do for fun, what do you want?”

“So, that was a lot of questions. Grew up in Scarsdale. Only child. Played baseball in high school and college. I play the piano, guitar, and accordion.”

“You play the accordion.” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

“I do. My grandmother taught me. I still like baseball and music. Going to the theater, normal stuff.” 

David pulled out a silver cigarette holder. He offered one to Patrick, who refused. The cigarette balanced between long fingers. He reminded Patrick of the snowy egrets he’d see on the beach—graceful but powerful.

“Oh, um, what was your last question?” Patrick asked.

“What do you want?”

“In general?”

“Why not?” David turned his head and exhaled, creating a cloud that twisted around David’s head. Smoke flowed from David’s cigarette like tendrils seeking support. “If that’s not too personal, I mean.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I, uh, I don’t really know what I want. Success? Happiness?”

“And other such vague platitudes?”

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you, David? How has life treated you thus far? What do _you_ want?”

“I really don’t have an answer for that… at this juncture. For what I want. I mean, I know what I want, but not what I _want_ want.”

“What is it you want?”

David churned his cigarette in the ashtray. “What anyone wants, I’d imagine. Comfort. Companionship.”

“From where I sit, you seem very comfortable.” David raised his brows. “Fine, this chair is very comfortable. And it’s yours.” Patrick looked at his hands. His fingers were stumps with chewed-over nails and calluses. “You don’t strike me as a person who has trouble finding companionship.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s not easy when everyone knows your name, who your family is, how much money you have. You don’t know who your friends are.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It can be. It is.” David brushed a finger beneath his eye. “I’m sorry, this is some real ‘poor little rich boy’ shit.”

“That’s okay.” Patrick drummed his fingers on the desk until David looked at him. “You deserve happiness. To be with someone who makes you happy.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I nailed Severe Character Judgment 101.” They smiled. Patrick glanced at his watch. “Hey, I’ve got to get going. I’ll probably be back Thursday at ten, if that’s all right.”

David stood and handed Patrick his jacket. “Of course. I’m sorry my paperwork is such a mess, I didn’t realize it would take so much time to sort out.”

“Not a problem. You open in two weeks. Miles to go…”

“Thank you,” David said, clasping Patrick’s hand as he rose from the desk chair.

“Good night, David.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

***

When Patrick returned, the gallery was a work-further-in-progress. Butcher paper cut in shapes of canvasses were tacked on white walls. Patrick walked slowly through the space and ran his hand along a smooth, black desk, watching it reflect his fingers.

“This looks great.” Patrick nodded toward the walls. “Trying out where paintings will go?”

“Yeah.” David stood with his hands on his hips. “Can’t quite get it right. It’s in my head, but can’t quite get it out in… existence.”

“It looks good to me.” Patrick turned to David. “But I’m just here for the numbers.”

David wore an oversized black cowl neck sweater and blue jeans with tears across the knees. He looked like the beatnik the news warned you about.

“I’m going to obsessively stare at these walls for a while,” David said. “Everything’s still on the desk.”

“Thanks. Don’t stare too long.”

Once seated at the desk, Patrick shuffled the papers, trying to grasp what still needed accomplishing. The ledger was in order. Insurance, lease, and other paperwork sorted. The pages between his fingers weren’t necessary for accounting, David just kept every piece of paper to ever enter his office. 

Well, those could be organized. 

An hour later, Patrick had stacks of sketches, lists of artist names, and formal correspondences from David’s father. He also copied over all important phone numbers into a new steno pad he had pilfered from his secretary.

He hung up his coat and loosened his tie, unsure what else to do as he had his secretary clear his afternoon. He needed to go over receipts for patrons with David before the opening. Explain the ledger and what’s needed for taxes.

He crossed the office for a cup of coffee, and found an electric kettle next to the coffee maker with a box of Lipton tea.

“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked.” 

Patrick jumped at David’s voice. “It’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

David shrugged. “I wanted to. I wasn’t sure how often you’d be here and figured I’d better keep my accountant happy.”

“I do your taxes, so you’re not wrong.” 

Patrick made himself a cup of tea while David sat at the table, staring at mock-ups of the gallery, unblinking, with his hands on his head.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Patrick sat at the table. “Come back to it later with fresh eyes.”

“It needs to be perfect.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.”

“Oh my god, why would you say that?”

“Nothing is perfect,” Patrick said. “You work with art. Do you think _art_ is perfect? It’s subjective. How you present this art, how people perceive it, is subjective. Don’t overthink it.”

“All I know is overthinking.”

“I realize it’s easier for me to say than do,” Patrick admitted. “Working with numbers demands perfection. But I still make mistakes.”

“You think my gallery is a mistake?”

“David, look at me.” David rolled his eyes and looked at Patrick. “I did _not_ say that. I wouldn’t be here if I thought your gallery was a mistake. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you had an eye for art, if I didn’t think you could do this.”

“You were assigned this gallery. It’s your job.” David lit a cigarette.

“I’m a partner. I could’ve handed this off to an associate.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was interested. I’ve never worked with a gallery before, it’s usually advertising agencies and law firms. Now that I’ve been here, I’m really impressed. You’ve created a beautiful space and I’m happy to be part of it. Even if I’m just your accountant.”

David held a serious, sometimes sad, expression, but now his dimple betrayed him. “Then you should be more than my accountant. You can be my… business manager. Since you _do_ manage the business as I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

“I’d be amenable to that.” Patrick smiled. “I’ve actually been wanting join the art scene. Or at least be art-scene adjacent.”

“You’re a musician. That’s art.”

Patrick stared at his mug of tea. “I know, but I haven’t been part of a community since college. I’d play some coffee houses with friends. I was in a few plays. I kind of miss it.”

“Wait, you act? How did I not know this?”

“Possibly because we’ve only known each other for two days.”

David waved the statement away. “Irrelevant. I must know these things. Were you in anything I’d know?”

Patrick cleared his throat and spoke:

My master you see the greatest scoundrel that ever walked on Earth.  
He is a madman, a dog, a devil, a Turk. He is a heretic who believes in neither heaven,  
nor saint, nor god, nor the bogeyman. He lives the life of an absolute brute beast.  
He is an Epicurean hog, a regular Sardanapalus.

David narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to assume that’s not directed at me.”

Patrick laughed. “No, I was in a local production of _Don Juan_. I played Sganarelle.”

“Of course you did.” David leaned back in his chair. “Can you perform it in French?”

“ _Oui._ ”

David raised his eyebrows.

“I’m kidding. My French is terrible.”

“Why don’t you act anymore?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick looked back at his tea. “After school I moved here and started working straight away. Kind of fell into the role of the working man, I suppose. Even on weekends, I play tennis with clients or cards with department heads.”

"’Constancy is only fit for idiots.’"

Patrick grinned. “You might be right, Don Juan.”

“I don’t think he was the hero of the piece.”

“Still, a little impulsiveness might be a good thing,” Patrick said. “I’m rarely impulsive. I’m mainly predictable.”

David regarded him for a moment. “Well, how about this: I’m hosting a few friends tomorrow night at the gallery. I’ve managed to procure a rare, censored French film. You’re welcome to join.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” David stood. “Now come be my eyes before I roll myself up in butcher paper and cry myself to sleep.”

Patrick laughed and followed David to the gallery floor. “I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from _Don Juan_ by Molière


	3. Un Chant d’Amour

The gallery was dark. Patrick rapped his knuckles on the door, looking at the night around him. A flash of light shone inside the gallery as the curtain was drawn aside. The silhouette of David Rose walked toward him, all broad shoulders and swaying hips.

“You came!” David held the door open and locked it once Patrick entered.

“Well, yeah… I said I would. I told you, I want to see the ‘artist’s world’.”

David grabbed his hand and walked him toward the back the room. “You’re just in time, everyone else is here.”

The studio was arranged differently than Patrick had seen. There was a screen facing a projector. The sofa and chairs circled the screen. Several men stood, steeped in conversation and drinks. Patrick only recognized one person.

“Is that Tennessee Williams?” Patrick whispered.

David nodded, sighing. “You do _not_ want to know what I had to do to get him to share this film. Scotch?”

Patrick followed David to a modest bar set against the exposed brick back wall. David poured a generous amount and Patrick drank half in one go.

“Nervous?” David asked. He tapped Patrick’s foot with his own.

“No,” Patrick sputtered. “This is, um, really good scotch.”

David added to Patrick’s tumbler.

Two men approached. David waved his arm as an introduction. “Patrick, this is Paul Cadmus and Cy Twombly. Cy just opened his first solo show at the Kootz gallery. Gentlemen, this is Patrick Brewer, my business manager.”

The men shook hands. “David here has a hard-on to get me in his gallery,” Cadmus said with a wink. “We shall see what tonight proffers.”

“Oh, we shall,” David agreed.

“As David’s business manager, I assure you that the Rose Gallery will be the preeminent gallery of Midtown come next Friday. As a layperson, I must admit I am not familiar with either of your work, but would love to get to know it. Perhaps on these walls.”

David smiled and ran his hand down Patrick’s back. “I told you I had an excellent business partner.” He clapped his hands. “Shall we get started?” Patrick’s spine still felt like embers from David’s touch.

David took Patrick’s elbow and directed him to a seat on the end of the couch. David fussed with the projector until a grainy countdown appeared on the screen. He took a seat next to Patrick. It was a tight fit.

“Gentlemen,” David announced, “I present _Un Chant d’Amour_.”

The film began with no sound except wind. A guard of some kind walked along a brink building, watching two arms hang from barred windows, one trying to swing a tendril of flowers to the other.

A short man swung his hips around his cell, hands in his pockets. He wore loose slacks and a white sleeveless undershirt. The film cut to a tall man in a dark sweater pacing his cell. He knocked on one of the walls.

The shorter man appeared to hear the knocks and turned to a tattoo of a woman on his left bicep, kneading it in his hand. Piano notes were added to the wind.

The camera cut to the other man with his thick black hair, unruly brows, and stubble on his jaw. His lips touched the wall between him and the other inmate. A heartbeat sounded as the smaller man laid a hand on his crotch, over his pants, still dancing with his tattoo.

The darker man laid down in his room, lips parted, and ran his hand beneath his sweater, exposing thick hair. The man touched himself over his pants and Patrick shifted in his seat.

The guard reappeared, palm on his pants, walking along the cell block and looking through peepholes. There were men standing and men writhing on their cots, many with a visible penis in hand. There was still only music, a saxophone that followed the guard along the hall. A black man humped his bed and David’s legs fell open, his knee touching Patrick’s.

The shorter prisoner was on his cot, kissing his knee and the back of his hand. He knocked on the wall. The man next to him still caressed the wall with his lips.

Patrick sat with his hands on his knees, unsure what to do with them. David brushed his fingers.

A hollow piece of straw ran through a small hole between the men’s cells. The man in the sweater lit a cigarette. He exhaled the smoke through the straw where it was inhaled by the other inmate. The men breathed the smoke together, lips curling around the straw.

Patrick’s hand did not move. David adjusted his hip flush against Patrick’s. He was still as David drew away from Patrick’s fingers and stroked his knee. They did not look at each other.

The cigarette was extinguished and the man in the sweater paced, touching himself, as the other man circled his own throat with one strong hand. David’s hand still moved.

The guard entered the tall man’s cell, gun drawn. He unbuttoned his uniform and took off his belt. He hit the prisoner with the belt, the blows offscreen. The prisoner sunk to his knees with a smile.

Suddenly, Patrick was caught in the sweater man’s fantasy. He and his neighbor played in a forest. It was intercut with men kissing, one holding the other by his throat. One man rubbed his hand inside the underwear of another.

David’s hand curved to the inside of Patrick’s thigh. He slowly drew it up the inseam of his pants, until his fingers grazed against Patrick’s half hardened cock. Patrick still didn’t move.

The picture returned to the man’s fantasy. He opened the other man’s belt as the younger man ran his fingers through his thick hair. David squeezed the inside of Patrick’s thigh, knuckles still brushing against his erection. David picked up Patrick’s hand and placed it on his own knee.

Naked men rolled together on screen and Patrick squeezed David’s knee. He glanced over, but David looked forward, the movie fluttering across his face. Patrick carefully moved his hand up David’s thigh and down again. He continued these strokes, just once tapping against David’s hardness.

The movie showed men sliding together, heads resting between each other’s thighs, grabbing fleshy asses. David’s hand was now brazen on Patrick’s erection. Patrick bit his bottom lip as David’s palm circled Patrick. The hand that wasn’t on David’s thigh clutched the sofa’s armrest. Patrick tried not to press into David’s hand. He kept frozen as David’s fingers danced against his erection.

The prison guard was back with his gun. He forced the barrel into the dark haired man’s mouth. Patrick let two of his fingers brush against David. He could see David smiling from the corner of his eye.

The guard left. The men trying to exchange flowers between windows succeeded. The film ended with “ _Juin_ 1950” scrawled in chalk on concrete and the sound of a bird chirping.

The screen went blank and everyone clapped. Patrick pulled his hand from David’s lap. David dragged his hand down Patrick’s leg before letting go. The other men stood and milled about, drinking and talking about the merits of Jean Genet as a filmmaker.

Patrick stayed tucked in the corner of the couch. Next to him, David turned, stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind Patrick.

“What did you think?” David asked.

Patrick cleared his throat. He looked up at David, caught in his eyes.

“That was… something.” He didn’t know what else to say. What to do.

“That it was.” David’s hand fell to Patrick’s shoulder with a light touch.

Patrick placed his hand across his lap, wishing he wasn’t so hard. His erection throbbed with the beat of his heart, with the rhythm in his ears. David’s legs were still spread open with his jeans pulled taut around the zipper.

“Are you okay?” David asked, pressing a hand against Patrick’s cheek. “You looked flushed.”

David traced his thumb along Patrick’s cheekbone down to his lips. His thumb whispered across Patrick’s lower lip, tugging gently.

Patrick jerked away. “I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling off the sofa. “I, uh, I have to get home. I have a… thing. In the morning.”

David stood. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay longer?” He reached for Patrick’s hand, but Patrick clenched it against this hip.

“Thank you, so much, for inviting me. I’ve just got to go.”

Patrick strode through the curtain into the gallery. His breath echoed in the empty space. He pulled the door, fumbled with the lock, then was outside. He hurried across the street and around the corner, not looking back.

He leaned against a building and tried to slow his breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut and remained there until he softened in his pants and the only pounding was in his chest.

***

Patrick slid his hand up Rachel’s skirt as they kissed on his sofa. He reached her cotton panties and rubbed his palm against her. She jumped.

“Do you like that?” he whispered. Rachel nodded. “Can you take this off?”

Patrick and Rachel undressed themselves, placing their clothes on the dresser as they always have. Rachel reached out for Patrick’s hand as they walked to the bed. Patrick pushed her onto the bed and Rachel giggled, holding out her arms.

Patrick dove on top of Rachel and kissed along her jaw and licked across her throat. He buried his face against her chest and rubbed against her. Rachel sighed and wrapped her arms around his back.

He flipped them over and pulled Rachel against him. “Like this,” he said softly. He lifted his head to crush his lips against hers. His tongue dove into her mouth, opposite of the quiet necking on the couch.

Rachel’s face beamed down at him. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“You’re just so beautiful.” His hands traveled down her back to her bottom, squeezing her cheeks. She yelped, but kissed him.

He stroked as much of Rachel’s soft, pale skin as he could reach. Patrick loved feeling her. Patrick loved her. His hands changed pressure to a light graze. Her hair brushed his chest as they moved. She rubbed herself against him. Her wetness mixed with Patrick’s; his dick covered and sliding along Rachel’s stomach.

“Patrick.” She touched his cheek. She was crimson from her chest through her cheeks. “Please.”

Patrick held her still as he entered her. She ground herself around him, slick and warm. He closed his eyes and let the feeling of Rachel surround him. He touched his chest, brushing through sparse chest hair. He kept his eyelids clamped and ran one hand down his abdomen and the other through his hair, tugging his head to the side.

Rachel pressed her hands on Patrick’s chest as she rolled against him. He gripped her hips and thrust into her. She gasped and leaned further against him. Holding her with one fist, he took one of her hands in his and placed it across his throat. Her head snapped up.

“What are you…?” He let go of her hand, but she kept it in place.

“Can you squeeze?” He slowed down inside her. “It won’t hurt me.”

Rachel put pressure on his throat. Not a lot, but enough for Patrick to throw his head back and jerk beneath Rachel as he came.

He opened his eyes to meet Rachel’s. She quietly rolled off of Patrick and stared at the ceiling.

“Did you…” Patrick began. “I can help you—”

“I’m fine. It’s okay.” Rachel stood, not looking at Patrick. “I’m going to use the washroom.”

Patrick stayed on his back and slapped his hands to his face. Half an hour later, Rachel slid into bed, wearing a long nightgown. Patrick pretended to be asleep, but peeked one eye open and saw she was turned away from him, far on her end of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Un Chant d’Amour_ is a real film available on [Youtube](https://youtu.be/4RN_IDtPcNE).


	4. The First Matisse

  
Patrick hadn’t talked to David all week. He had paperwork delivered by courier. But it was Friday, the night of the gallery opening, and he told David he’d be there. He was excited to see how the gallery came together and help with what he hoped to be a lot of sales. Now he was hanging back on 57th Street, watching the crowd enter Rose Gallery.

He had no idea how to dress for a gallery opening. He pulled blazers, sports coats, suits, and a tuxedo from his closet. Rachel was visiting her parents, so there was no one to offer fashion feedback. He resigned himself to dressing like a square. He chose a dark slate blue suit that was too nice to wear to work. He wore a brown tie and brown wingtip shoes—he had enough fashion sense to know that shoes should match something.

He walked to the gallery and was let in by a doorman with a list. The gallery looked completely different. Canvases full of color burst against the black and white space. Cocktail waiters weaved through the crowd with champagne and platters of _amuse-bouche_. He took a glass and tried not to chug it. Everyone was elegant and clearly very, very rich. He spotted a black pompadour on the other side of the room and guessed it was David. David, who he would have to talk to. At some point. Maybe it won’t be awkward if other people are around. He was only David’s business manager after all.

He started crossing the room when a young woman popped in front of him. She was beautiful. Her hair lay in honey blonde waves past her shoulders, and a golden lace dress wrapped tightly around her torso and flowed to the floor. She smiled, trapping Patrick in her bright blue eyes.

“Patrick, right? The accountant?”

Patrick looked down at his suit. “That obvious?”

“Not at all. Your suit is very cute. David told me you’d be here.”

“Did he?” 

“I’m his sister Alexis.” She held out her hand like it was expected to be kissed. Patrick wrapped her fingers with his and shook lightly. “I did the marketing for this event.”

“Well, looks like you did a good job,” Patrick said. “This is quite the turnout.”

Alexis sipped champagne, leaving red lipstick on the crystal.

“Are you here alone?”

“Yes my, um, fiancée wasn’t able to make it,” Patrick said.

“Fiancée, love that! When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t really decided yet. Taking the planning slow and all that.”

Alexis tapped a finger on Patrick’s shoulder. “Well, you’ll make a scrumptious groom.”

Patrick thanked her and she glanced over her shoulder. “Oh! There’s David, have you talked to him yet?”

“I haven’t.” The crowd parted and he saw David talking up an older patron. He wore a black waistcoat, a white shirt, and black trousers, all tailored to be very form-fitting, with black and white saddle shoes. As he gestured with his right hand, Patrick saw his silver rings were stacked in a new pattern, complemented by silver cufflinks.

Alexis grabbed Patrick’s hand and led the way to David. When Patrick was closer, he saw the cufflinks were roses.

“David!” Alexis stepped in front of the woman David had been speaking with. “Look who I found!”

“Patrick.” David held out a hand. “Good to see you again.”

Patrick shook his hand. “I’m very impressed with what you’ve done here. It looks wonderful.”

Alexis bumped her shoulder against Patrick. “Patrick’s fiancée couldn’t make it, so he’s here all alone, poor thing.”

“Fiancée,” David repeated.

“Haven’t set a date yet,” Alexis chirped. “Taking things slow, aren’t you?”

Patrick nodded.

“Oh my god, Alexis, did you get a dossier on every guest?” David snapped.

“Ugh, there’s Gloria Vanderbilt. I can’t believe she keeps getting photographed for _Harper’s_. I’ll be back.” Alexis strolled toward the socialite. “Gloria, oh my god you look gorgeous! It’s been too long!”

Patrick’s eyes rocketed around the room, landing everywhere except David.

“Fiancée, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you. It just didn’t come up, I guess.” Patrick finished his champagne.

“You don’t have to apologize.” David looked over Patrick’s shoulder. “Can you meet me in the studio in fifteen? Your secretary sent over the bills of sale, but I have no idea how to fill them out.”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

“Great.” David walked past him without a second glance.

Patrick shuffled through the crowd, stopping to look at art he did not understand.

He checked his watch fifteen times before he slipped into the office. The furniture was arranged its usual way and David’s desk was just how Patrick left it. He paced the length of the room, trying to decide the best way to look casual.

Ten minutes passed and Patrick situated himself on the sofa, thumbing through a large modern art book. The curtain flourished open.

“I’m so sorry,” David said. “I trapped in a very irritating conversation with Paul, whom you met last week, about Jackson Pollock.”

“The paint splatter guy?”

“Ah, so you do know art!”

Patrick laughed as David sat on the other end of the sofa. “Look, if I knew you had a fiancée, I never would've… I wouldn’t have invited you last Friday.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick said. “You didn’t know and I wasn’t exactly, um,” he stared down at a picture of something called _Broadway Boogie_ _Woogie_ , “unresponsive. I could’ve left anytime.”

“You did leave.”

“I could’ve left earlier.”

David shrugged. “No, I shouldn’t have made any assumptions. I could really use my accountant tonight because,” he leaned forward and stage-whispered, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Patrick smiled. “Happy to help. The gallery really is impressive. You should be proud of your work.”

David titled his head back, as if he were trying to swallow Patrick’s words like a pill. “Thank you. That’s a lovely thing to say.”

Patrick waited until David looked at him again. “You’re still second guessing everything, aren’t you?”

“How do you already know me so well?”

“It’s a gift.” Patrick stood and held out his hand. “Get back out there and hobnob.”

David took his hand and let Patrick pull him from the couch. Patrick froze, eyes on their hands, and quickly dropped David’s. He wiped his palms on his slacks and gestured for David to lead the way.

Patrick stood behind the front desk, watching David talk and laugh and put red stickers next to sold pieces. He placed a sticker on one that Patrick knew had a high asking price, and their eyes met. David smiled before turning to another patron.

As the evening wound down, Patrick was busy filling out sales receipts and arranging deliveries. Alexis kissed his cheek as she flounced out the door. Soon it was just the catering staff. Then it was just Patrick and David.

“How’d we do?” David stood next to Patrick behind the desk. _We_.

“Really good, actually.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “I’m not surprised, David. I’m just… impressed.”

David grabbed the stack of cash and checks from Patrick. “Come on, let’s do this in the studio. I wanna see all my money!”

Patrick sat behind the desk and typed into an adding machine. David handed him a scotch.

“So?”

Patrick ripped off the adding machine paper and handed it to David. “Here’s how much people spent tonight.” He took a sip of his drink.

David's eyes widened. “This is a lot of money… right?”

Patrick laughed. “Yes, it’s very much a lot of money.”

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” David said. Patrick shrugged. “I’m serious. Not only would I have no idea how much money I had, you helped by, you know, believing in me. And such.”

Patrick stood. “I was right to. You’re a success. I, uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t around this week. I should’ve been.”

“It was all very awkward, so best not to dwell on that.” David circled his hand toward the other side of the room.

Patrick raised his glass. “To your success. To my ability to count. And to friendship?”

“I like that,” David said softly.

They clinked glasses and drank. David refilled their tumblers and they stood next to each other and drank in silence.

“I should've told you I was engaged,” Patrick said, not looking at David.

“It’s none of my business. It didn’t have anything to do with work.”

“Still, it feels like I was deceiving you. Or something. Giving signals.”

David shook his head. “No signals. Sometimes we just see what we want to see.”

Patrick stared at his drink. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Want to see things?”

David placed his glass on the desk and faced Patrick. “I’m sorry I was inappropriate.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick said.

“No, it isn’t. I just have this habit of hitting on anyone remotely nice to me in a desperate attempt for attention and validation.”

“You deserve those things.”

“Yeah,” David laughed, “we’ll see.”

Patrick placed his drink next to David’s. Two lamps cloaked the room in warm light. David’s face was shadows, save for his eyes. Patrick was pulled into the dark pools and could almost see inside David. Maybe even beyond David.

“Can I ask you something?” Patrick asked. “And it’s okay if the answer is no.”

“Okay…”

Patrick took a step forward and kept his eyes on David’s. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

Patrick watched David blink in surprise, smile, bite the inside of his cheek, and finally soften his features.

“Yes, yeah. Yes, I would like that.”

Patrick stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never—”

“Kissed a man?”

Patrick nodded.

“It’s okay,” David breathed.

David placed a hand on each side of Patrick’s face, his fingers rubbing behind Patrick’s ears. Patrick leaned forward and their lips met.

David’s lips were careful as they moved against Patrick’s. His bottom lip was between Patrick’s and was shockingly soft. He traced his tongue along David’s lip and placed his hands on David’s waist. He felt David smile.

David pulled back. “How was that?”

Patrick stared and felt a smile flit across his lips. He wasn’t sure what to say.

And since he didn’t know what to say, he wrapped a hand around David’s neck and led their mouths back together.

David wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck and waist. David felt strong and firm around Patrick. His stubble brushed Patrick’s chin and his hands felt big against Patrick’s body.

Patrick parted his lips and his tongue ventured into David’s mouth. He felt David inhale and sweep his fingers into Patrick’s hair. Patrick touched David’s tongue and David swept against it. Patrick licked further into his mouth. He knew it must have felt desperate, but he didn’t care. Maybe he _was_ desperate.

Patrick drove his fingers into David’s hair and moved his other hand to David’s cheek. His thumb was next to their lips, feeling the way they moved together. David’s tongue kneaded Patrick’s and he thought he might cry. Or faint. Or something. This didn’t seem like something Patrick was going to survive.

David pulled back and rested their foreheads together. Patrick’s thumb ran along David’s lips and across his cheekbone, taking in all of David’s features with wide eyes.

“You okay?” David asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m good. Really good.”

David took a step back and rubbed his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick recognized David’s amused, trying-not-to-laugh face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” David said, smiling. “You just look like… Okay, so I spend a lot of time at art museums. Obviously. I’ve watched a lot of people see a lot of art for the first time. You’re just, you’re looking at me like I’m the first Matisse you’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Patrick whispered.

David laughed. “Well, we’re definitely getting you to the MoMA.” He combed a hand through Patrick’s hair. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, it’s just… I _haven’t_ seen anything like you. David. I’ve never felt this way when… I’ve never felt anything like this. Like you.”

David took Patrick’s hand and squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, so I’m actively _not_ crying about it.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Patrick. “Just so you know.” He tugged Patrick’s hand. “Couch?”

Patrick quickly nodded. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stand.”

The moment they fell to the couch, David’s hands were on Patrick. He slid his hands under Patrick’s coat and up his shoulders. David kissed along Patrick’s jaw to his ear, and bit down on his earlobe.

Patrick wrapped his arms around David. As much as he wanted to remember this moment, he had no idea where his hands were going or what they were touching. All he knew is that he needed to keep touching David. So much of David. He kissed his way down David’s neck and his body jerked when David bit his ear. Patrick bit the tendons in David’s neck in retaliation. He needed David under his hands, under his mouth.

David rolled his tongue in Patrick’s mouth before pulling back to unbutton his waistcoat. He raised his brows at Patrick.

Patrick nodded and took off his jacket and tie. They watched each other unbutton their shirts.

Patrick grabbed David’s shoulders and pulled him down so he was spread above Patrick. Patrick tugged on David’s hips until he put his full weight on Patrick. David was heavy and sturdy and his hands held Patrick’s head in place as he kissed him. Patrick ran his hands down David’s sides and across his back. Patrick kept his mouth open so David’s tongue could play.

Patrick sunk further into the couch. He felt the humidity they created and heard little sounds come from their mouths. It was a small pocket of the universe that was just theirs. David slipped a hand beneath Patrick’s undershirt and ran it along his stomach and Patrick’s head was buzzing.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Patrick breathed.

“You stopped moving.”

“Oh.” Patrick hadn’t noticed. “You just feel so good.”

David kissed his temple and stood. He poured a glass of water from the bar and handed it to Patrick. “I can’t have my manager dying in the office.”

“What a way to go,” Patrick murmured without thinking. His eyes widened and looked at David.

“Don’t worry, that was very suave.” David kneaded the back of Patrick’s neck as he sat down. “But maybe that’s enough for tonight? I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

“What? Why would I have regrets?”

David shrugged. He let go of Patrick and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Because this is something you’re never done before. Because you have a whole life outside of here. A fiancée.”

“You’re right.”

David’s head sank.

“I just mean,” Patrick placed a hand on David’s shoulder, “this isn’t fair to you. You deserve more than this. A real relationship.”

“I don’t really do those.” He looked back at Patrick. “Patrick, do you want me?”

“So much,” Patrick breathed.

“I know what I’m getting into and I’m fine with it. I only want to make sure you are too.”

“I am! I know I’m new at this and I don’t know how much I can give you, but I want to try. If you want to, I want to try.” He took David’s hands in his. “Please.”

David smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ”Okay, we’ll try. But I really do think we should call it a night.”

Patrick nodded and slowly gathered his clothing. “When can I see you again?

“Soon.”

“Tomorrow?”

David laughed. “If you’re up for it, you can stop by my place tomorrow night. Your fiancée is out of town, yeah?”

Patrick nodded.

“But, please, if you don’t want to do this you don’t have to. It won’t hurt my feelings; we can still work together.”

Patrick touched David’s face. “I’ll be there.”


	5. What You Want, Who You Are

  
Patrick was buzzed into a brownstone on Cornelia Street in Greenwich Village by a female voice he didn’t recognize. He climbed four flights of stairs to a single door. Behind it was what David had described as a “baby penthouse.” He knocked.

The door was flung open by a woman with long brown hair, large brown eyes, and a smirk. How did he already warrant a smirk?

“I’m Stevie,” she said, sticking out her hand. She wore a men’s white button-down with a loose necktie and black slacks.

“Patrick.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

Stevie waved him into the apartment. “Patrick, the pleasure is _all_ mine. Welcome to our home! Please, sit.”

Patrick sat on the edge of an overstuffed brown upholstered sofa. The room was large, but warm. Built-in bookshelves filled one entire wall and floor-to-ceiling windows another. Large canvases hung on nearly every free inch of wall. Buff-colored carpet stretched across the room.

Stevie flopped on the couch next to him, tucking her bare feet beneath her. She picked up a lit cigarette from a crystal ashtray on the coffee table and stared at Patrick.

“I’m sorry, when you say ‘our’ home...”

“David didn’t tell you I live with him?” Patrick shook his head. “Typical.”

“Um, where _is_ David?”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll get him for you.”

“Thanks.”

“DAVID!”

“WHAT?”

“PATRICK’S HERE!”

“TELL HIM I’LL BE RIGHT OUT!”

Stevie smiled. “He’ll be right out.” She put out her cigarette. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

“That’d be nice.”

“What’s your poison?”

“I don’t suppose David is a beer person?”

Stevie shook her head. “Nope, but I am! Be right back.”

Patrick stood and walked around the room. Healthy-looking plants hung from hooks, draped the television, and sat on accent tables. The books covered a wide variety of topics: art, poetry, history. They appeared to be separated by category and alphabetized. Patrick was pretty sure that was David’s doing.

“Here you are, hope Schaefer is okay.” Stevie handed him a can.

“Perfect, thanks.”

“Sometimes I move a book to see how long it takes him to notice,” Stevie said.

“How long?”

“About a day.”

David walked in on their laughter. “What’s so funny?” His eyes narrowed on Stevie.

“I was just showing Patrick our book collection. He commented on how orderly it is.”

“Yeah, David, do you use the Dewey Decimal system?” Patrick looked around. “I don’t see a card catalogue, but I’d love to borrow something one day.”

“This is fun for me. And I don’t lend my books.” David kissed Patrick’s cheek and looked down at his beer. “Jesus Christ, you didn’t even offer him a pint glass?”

“It’s fine,” Patrick said. “Stevie has been a consummate hostess. Of her home.”

“Did I not tell you about her?” David’s pitch heightened.

“No, I’m your dirty little secret!”

“Feel free to leave at any time,” David told her.

“Don’t think so.” She returned to the couch and patted the seat next to her. “Come, Patrick, have a seat so we can figure out what else David’s been keeping from you.”

Patrick sat and watched Stevie open her beer and stare down David as she drank at least half the can. She put her feet up on the coffee table.

“She is neither representative of myself nor how I live,” David said, gesturing at Stevie. He sat across from them in an olive easy chair.

“So how do you know each other?” Patrick asked. “Are you an artist?”

David laughed and she held up a finger to silence him. “I am, in fact, an artist. I paint.”

“I don’t remember seeing you at the opening.”

“Oh, I wasn’t there,” Stevie said. “I’m still a member of a co-op. Haven’t yet made it to the big leagues of my friend’s fledgling gallery.”

“Are you a member if it’s not you paying?” David asked, tilting his head at her.

She stuck out her tongue. “We grew up together,” she told Patrick.

“Oh, you’re from the North Shore as well?”

“Yes!”

Another laugh burst from David.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well I _am_ _._ ” She lit another cigarette, passed it to David, and lit one for herself.

“Her parents worked for our family,” David said. “They lived on the property.”

“Just a lowly bud at Rose Manor.”

“You can stop with that joke at _any_ point in our lives.”

“Joke?” Patrick asked.

“My last name is Budd,” Stevie told him. “I think their parents let David and Alexis play with me to keep them grounded. Not so coddled by high society, stay in touch with the common man.”

“ _You_ came into the house first, insistent you be allowed to play in our wing.”

“You had rich kid toys.”

Patrick looked between them. “You two do kinda seem like brother and sister.”

“Well, that would make sophomore year very disgusting,” Stevie said.

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” David asked.

She stood. “I do, in fact.” She stuck out her hand. “Patrick, lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She pulled on a pair of boots next to the door and grabbed a blazer and fedora from the coat rack.

“You kids have fun!”

“I’m sorry about her,” David said once the door closed, “she’s… a catastrophe.”

“No, I like her,” Patrick said. 

“You say that now,” David grumbled. He moved to the couch next to Patrick. “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

“Do?” Patrick coughed on his beer and placed it on the table. “I don’t know, I told you I’m new at this…”

“I just meant would you like to go out or stay in? I know some places uptown.”

“That sounds good.”

Patrick looked at his clothes. He wore a navy corduroy sports jacket and navy slacks. He had no idea how to dress for the evening. David wore black wool slacks and a black button down shirt.

“Am I dressed okay?” Patrick asked. He touched their feet together. David wore sleek black suede shoes. Patrick wore penny loafers.

David smiled. “As long as you’re comfortable, you’re fine.” He ran his hand along Patrick’s coat. “But, I’d be happy to talk fashion. You just need to know that once I start, I will talk fashion _a_ _lot_. I actually have a Balenciaga sweater that’s a bit too small. It would look good on you.”

“That would be... nice.” Patrick felt his ears burn.

“Another night.” David looked at his watch. “It’s only eleven, wanna get some food first? There’s a great Italian place not too far.” David stood and put on a black suede bomber jacket.

“I could eat.” Patrick stood and met David at the door. He reached to open the door for David, but David put a hand on the nape of his neck. 

David pulled Patrick to him and kissed him softly. Chastely, even.

“Let’s go,” David whispered in his ear.

***

They sat in the back of the restaurant, drinking after dinner coffee.

David leaned over the table to speak quietly. “This place gets fun around one.”

“It does? Seems late for a restaurant.”

“There’s a different… clientele. Less food, more drinks.”

Patrick looked around and saw no one was watching, so he touched his thumb to the side of his nose.

“Indeed,” David said. “We manage to cohabitate just fine.”

Mafia-run homosexual spaces. Patrick wouldn’t have imagined.

“Are we staying here?”

David shook his head and waved their waiter for the check. “We’re going somewhere a bit more discreet. Trust me, you’ll have fun.” David winked.

***

The taxi dropped them at 70th and Amsterdam. Patrick was surprised going this far uptown, it seemed like the Village would be more the scene.

“This way,” David said, walking on 70th. There was nothing but apartment houses.

“Are we going to someone’s home?”

David shook his head. He stopped in front of a building that looked like all the others. “This is it.”

Patrick followed David downstairs to the basement. A tall, incredibly good-looking man stood by a door. His face brightened when he saw David.

“It’s been a while,” the man said and they kissed each other’s cheeks. He looked Patrick up and down. “Who’s this guy?”

“He’s with me, don’t worry.” He turned to Patrick. “Show him your ID.”

The man studied Patrick’s license carefully before handing it back. He nodded. “Just because you’re with David.”

“Thanks, honey,” David said to the doorman. “Cover the same?” The man nodded and David slipped him three dollars.

The man opened the door and David took Patrick’s hand, leading him inside.

The room was dark and smoky, but with a faint smell of lavender. A bar lined one wall and a man was playing a grand piano on a makeshift stage, raised a few inches off the floor. Pine paneled walls were bare save for softly lit sconces. Couples swing danced across the floor. All the couples were men.

David held Patrick’s hand as they walked to the bar. A blonde man with Scandinavian features hurried over.

“David! We’ve missed you,” he said with a slight Swedish accent. David dropped Patrick’s hand and leaned across the bar so they could kiss cheeks.

“Who’s your friend?” the bartender asked. He looked Patrick up and down, but slower than the doorman had, eyes lingering on Patrick’s face.

“This is Patrick. Patrick, Lucas. He and I go way back.”

Lucas smiled. “We certainly do. Old fashioned?”

David nodded. He looked to Patrick. “Same.”

“You got it.” Lucas turned to make their cocktails.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” David murmured. Patrick nodded. “There’s all kinds of beautiful people out there, Patrick. Just waiting to meet someone. To feel good.”

Lucas returned with their drinks and David slid him a bill. He took out a cigarette and Lucas lit it for him. He held out the case to Patrick. “You sure you don’t want one?”

Patrick looked at the glittering case. “Why not?”

David handed him a cigarette and Lucas was ready with his lighter. His blue eyes looked into Patrick’s as he lit the cigarette.

David turned toward the dance floor, and Patrick did the same.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Patrick said.

David sipped his drink. “I assumed as much. Wanna dance?”

“With you?” Patrick’s voice went high, and he tried to calm it with a sizable drink of rye.

“Unless there’s someone else.” David smiled. “If someone catches your eye, I say go for it.”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“Well, let’s finish our drinks and take a spin around the dance floor, see if you like it.”

Patrick nodded and watched the men dance. Most were doing the jitterbug, but there were a few couples dancing slow, lost in each other. Patrick wasn’t a good dancer. He had rhythm, but no confidence in his feet or any idea what to do with his hands.

David placed his empty glass on the bar and snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray. Patrick downed his drink and put out his cigarette, coughing a bit.

“Shall we?” David held out a hand.

Patrick took his hand and let David pull him to the dance floor. A new song began and David started dancing the swing. Patrick tried to mimic his movements.

David leaned his mouth to Patrick’s ear. “I take it you haven’t done much musical theater?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’re fine.” David pulled him closer. “We don’t have to be fancy.”

He pulled Patrick to him and encouraged Patrick to move his pelvis in time with his.

“We can just do this.” David’s breath was hot in Patrick’s ear. He wrapped his arm around Patrick beneath his coat. Their bodies were flush and David was grinding against Patrick.

He slipped his arms beneath David’s jacket and ran them along his sides, feeling the muscles of his back. He held Patrick as if he could pick him up. He probably could. Patrick’s fingers gripped the back of David’s shirt and he laid his forehead on David’s shoulder.

David was such a substantial presence that Patrick was helpless. Everything about David turned him on. His large hands, the feel of his broad chest, his long legs moving against Patrick’s.

Patrick rubbed against David, getting embarrassingly hard, like a teenager. David kept rubbing his leg against Patrick. They were barely even dancing anymore. Patrick couldn’t pick out what song was playing as he looked up at David.

David kissed along Patrick’s throat. He arched his neck, his world shrinking to David’s tongue. David nipped at Patrick’s jaw on his way to his ear. David flicked his tongue inside, then breathed into Patrick's ear. David kissed everywhere within reach, except Patrick’s mouth.

“Why don’t you mingle,” David said, his breath still burning Patrick’s ear.

Patrick saw David nod at someone and turned Patrick around. A man, taller than David, with dark hair and hazel eyes smiled at him and held out a hand. David pushed Patrick toward him.

The man encircled Patrick and there was that feeling again. Patrick’s head only reached the man’s chin and his hands on Patrick’s lower back felt immense. They began dancing, Patrick moving against his leg, and he felt the man half-hard against his belly.

The man grabbed Patrick’s hair, positioning his head so he could kiss Patrick. Patrick opened his mouth—he tasted like beer and cigarettes. He thought they may have stopped moving, with the man’s hands on his back and his tongue in his mouth. When their lips parted, Patrick saw David leaning on the bar, watching them with a smile.

“Thank you for the dance,” Patrick said quickly. “Excuse me.”

David handed Patrick a drink.

“Is the fun over already?”

Patrick shrugged. “I enjoy the company of some people more than others.”

David laughed and pulled Patrick in front of him, Patrick’s back leaned against David’s chest, and David wrapped his arms around Patrick’s waist.

“All this could be yours,” he said against Patrick’s temple. “This could be what you want, who you are. Every night.”

Patrick watched the men dancing, gyrating, kissing on the dance floor. It really was a lovely sight. He turned in David’s arms.

“What if what I want is only one person?” He kissed David’s neck. “Is that okay?”

“I think that’s just fine.” David kissed Patrick’s temple. “Let’s dance.”

Drinks left behind, this time Patrick led David to the floor. He picked up David’s arms and placed them around his shoulders then moved his hands to David’s hips. The pianist began to play “ _La Vie en ros_ _e_.” Patrick swayed them back and forth.

“Bit of a romantic?” David grinned.

Patrick thought for a moment. “Honestly… I don’t know.”

“I think you are,” David said, resting his forehead on Patrick’s. “I think you want to be swept off your feet.”

“Don’t you?”

David shrugged. “I’ve come to terms that isn’t going to happen.”

Patrick frowned. “You don’t have to be alone. I mean, I’m sure someone would love to make you happy.”

David pulled Patrick closer. “I have Stevie. I’m not alone.”

“But what if someone sweeps her off _her_ feet?”

Patrick felt David’s chest rumble with laughter. “Stevie is _not_ the settling down type.”

The music changed to an upbeat rhythm. “We don’t have to think about that tonight,” David said. “Let’s just dance.”

It didn’t take long for heat to again kindle between them. Patrick buried his head in David’s shoulder and felt David harden against him. Their chests rose together with heavy breaths. Patrick moved his leg between David’s. Instead of being embarrassed, Patrick just let the friction take over. David was hard too. _He_ made David hard.

“Christ,” David purred, “you feel so good.”

“So do you.” Patrick wasn’t sure if he was loud enough for David to hear.

“Come with me.” David laced his fingers through Patrick’s and walked them to the back of the club and into the men’s room.

“What are we—” Patrick stopped when he saw. There were two stalls. One was open, but the other had two sets of feet. Patrick gripped David’s hand harder when a pair of knees sunk to the floor. A hand slapped the wall and Patrick heard a moan.

“You still with me?” Patrick hadn’t realized he was staring, lips parted, until he heard David. He nodded, still watching what he could of the men behind the wall.

“Come on,” David said and tugged Patrick into the empty stall, closing the door.

David pressed Patrick against the tile wall, his hands drawing circles above Patrick’s waistline. Patrick slipped his hands beneath David’s jacket. David teased Patrick’s thighs like he had during the movie.

David’s hand cupped Patrick through his pants. Even with his eyes closed, Patrick found David’s mouth and shoved his tongue inside. David kept rubbing him until Patrick unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

“Please,” he said into David’s mouth.

David’s hand went into Patrick’s briefs. His hand was smooth against Patrick’s dick and when that hand began to move, Patrick stopped kissing him.

He put his forehead on David’s shoulder and looked down to see David’s hand at work.

“Fuck,” David growled. “You’re gorgeous.”

Patrick clutched at David, afraid he would fall through the floor. David’s hand was sure as it ran along Patrick. Patrick’s hips met each stroke.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” David murmured. “You’ll have men begging to suck you off. Lining up around the block.”

“What else?” Patrick managed.

“They’ll want to fuck you.” Patrick shivered. “They’ll drop their dicks into you and stroke you. Like I am right now.”

Patrick clawed at David’s shoulders.

“Do you want that?”

“Yes,” Patrick gasped, “yes.”

“And, like now, they’ll stroke you until you come.” David tightened his hand and nudged Patrick’s face so they were looking at each other. “Will you come for me, Patrick?”

Patrick closed his eyes and groaned, the pressure building in his stomach until it pulsed into David’s fist. He came on David’s hand in a way that felt primal and raw. Out of control.

He let his head fall back on the wall behind him and looked at David. “That was…” he panted.

David lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked Patrick’s cum from his fingers.

“Jesus.” Patrick sat on the toilet; he definitely couldn’t stand now. “You’re amazing.”

David smiled as he opened his own slacks and rubbed his cock. “Thank you,” he whispered. His hand quickened until he came too. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

“Well,” David said, “this has been a fun night.” Patrick nodded. “Do you want to go home?”

“Can I stay with you?” Patrick blurted.

“Yeah, sure.” David looked surprised.

“Not to…” Patrick trailed off, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “Just to be there. With you.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s clean up and get outta here.” David’s smile deepened his dimples.

Patrick stood and kissed David. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this,” Patrick gestured around the stall. “For taking me out and showing the, uh, ropes, I guess.”

“There’s much more to learn.”

“Good thing I have a good teacher.”

David rolled his eyes, tucking his shirt back in his pants. “That’s so corny.”

Patrick grinned. “You loved it.” He gave David one more peck on the lips before opening the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homosexual places in NY were almost exclusively run by the mafia.


	6. Retrospective

Patrick woke up in David’s bed wearing only his boxers and undershirt. David was asleep next to him in an expensive looking satin pajama set, mouth open with a raspy snore. He couldn’t tell what time it was through David’s heavy drapes. He found a clock that said nine, later than Patrick had slept in years.

Patrick couldn’t say what made him want to stay with David. He blamed it on the booze. And exhaustion due to the dancing and, fuck, the bathroom. He hated the thought of going home to his empty apartment and sleeping alone. Patrick offered to take the couch, but David rolled his eyes and dragged him to his bedroom. They had laid, facing each other, not talking for a while before David turned his back to Patrick and pulled the covers up to his ears.

Now Patrick could stare at David. He was on his side, facing Patrick, limbs coiled tight. A lock of hair flopped across his face and Patrick brushed it into place. David was beautiful. Before last night, Patrick had never thought of another man as beautiful. Handsome, sure, that’s what you called men. But David wasn’t handsome, he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that hurt to look at, that you didn’t want anyone else to see if they didn’t have the same level of appreciation. He thought he understood art now.

Patrick rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. What was he doing? He had quieted his brain at every turn since the gallery opening and now here he was, in a man’s bed.

Patrick got up and put on his pants and undershirt from last night. He ventured into the rest of the apartment and found his way to the black and white, open-concept kitchen.

“Oh shit!” Stevie jumped when Patrick said good morning. “I didn’t know you were here.” She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Patrick. “Why _are_ you here?”

“Um, I slept over? Because I was tired?”

Stevie leaned against the refrigerator. “David isn’t known to have his… gentlemen callers… spend the night.”

“Maybe I’m not a gentleman.”

Stevie’s face lit up. “I knew I liked you!” She thrust a paper bag at him. “Have a bagel. There’s schmear in the icebox. And, sorry to say, you’re completely a gentleman. I can tell.”

“How so?”

She took his chin in her hand, moving his head side to side. “Lookin’ at your face.” She stepped back and smiled. “Plus, you’ve made a valiant effort to not look at my breasts.”

Stevie wore a white, sleeveless men’s undershirt that was very thin and left _very_ little to the imagination. Pinstripe pajama bottoms slung low on her hips. He, indeed, had concentrated on maintaining eye contact.

“What the fuck, why is so loud out here?” David stumbled past Patrick and Stevie to the coffee.

“We’re speaking at a normal conversational level,” Stevie said.

“Honestly,” Patrick said, “I’m surprised you could hear us over your snoring.”

Stevie bent with laughter until David shot her a look.

“I told you you snore,” she said.

David opened his mouth, but a beautiful woman appeared, fully dressed, walking toward the door. She had long chestnut hair and kind, green eyes. She smiled at Stevie.

“Thanks, I’ll see you again soon?” the woman asked.

Stevie walked from the kitchen and quickly kissed her. “Sure, I’ll call you.”

The woman waved at Patrick and David and on her way out the door.

David folded his arms and looked at Stevie.

“What?” she said.

“Isn’t she the same one who was here last weekend?” David asked.

“So what if she is?”

David smiled. “Nothing. It’s just interesting is all.”

“I don’t comment on your guests,” she said.

“Actually,” Patrick interrupted, “she did mention your many ‘gentlemen callers.’”

“Come on, Patrick,” Stevie said, nudging his foot with hers, “I thought you were on my side.”

“Okay, there’s no ‘sides.’” David said. “You’re both terrible people.”

“How am I terrible?” Patrick asked. “What did I do?”

David huffed and stomped into the living room, opening the newspaper with a flourish.

“He’s just pouty in the morning,” Stevie told Patrick.

“Yes, I can see the change from his normal behavior,” Patrick said. “A real Jekyll and Hyde situation.”

“And now I like you again,” Stevie said with a small bow. “I assume you’re going uptown today?”

“Upper East Side.”

“Perfect, I’ll walk with you, just let me get ready.”

Patrick sat next to David on the couch.

“Again, sorry about her,” David muttered, “she’s—”

“Charming?”

“I was going to say insolent, but, sure.”

Patrick looked down at his hands, weaving his fingers together. “So, uh, what are you doing today?”

“ _Times_ crossword, trying not to carve my roommate to death. The usual.”

They sat in silence.

David dramatically shook his head. “Fine, what are you doing today, Patrick?”

“Probably clean the apartment. Also the crossword, and apparently taking a walk with Stevie.”

David nodded and sipped his coffee.

“I left the deposit slips on your desk for the bank tomorrow. Think you’ll be okay?”

“If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s deposit money.” David looked at him. “Thank you again. For all your help.”

“Of course. And call me anytime if you have questions. I’ll check in and see how you’re making out.”

David nodded. They sat side-by-side, silently reading the newspaper and even this Patrick didn’t want to leave. He eventually put on the rest of last night’s clothing and sat in the easy chair, waiting for Stevie.

“Ready to go?” she asked, bounding down the hallway. 

Patrick glanced at David, who didn’t look up from the paper.

“Yeah,” Patrick stood, “it seems so.”

Stevie stamped over to David, bent down, and yelled: “Patrick and I are leaving now, David!”

David crumpled the paper. “I heard you, Jesus.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs, Patrick,” Stevie said with a wink and left the apartment.

David stood and met Patrick at the door.

“I had a good time. Last night,” Patrick said.

“Me too.”

“Can I, uh, call you sometime?”

“You already said you would,” David said. He kissed Patrick’s cheek. “Better get going before Stevie gets distracted by a squirrel and leaves.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. For everything.”

Once in the hall, Patrick touched a hand to the closed door between him and David before walking away.

“Hey! You ready?” Stevie jumped from the brownstone’s stoop.

“Yeah.” Patrick frowned and looked back at the building. “Did I do something wrong? With David?”

“This is why I wanted to walk with you.” They started down the block then turned up Bleecker Street.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. David doesn’t really do relationships. Which isn’t a dig at him, I don’t either.”

“Except the woman from this morning?” Patrick nudged her side.

“Yes, no… she’s just very nice and… convenient.”

“Wow, ‘convenient’! Don’t let Hallmark hear you or they’ll steal it for their Valentines.”

“This isn’t about me!” Stevie stomped her foot. “ _Anyway_ , I wanted to say he talks about you.”

“David talks about me?”

“You don’t understand, Patrick. David never talks about anyone.”

“Okay…”

“He mentioned you when you started working together. And all day yesterday after the gallery opening.”

“Okay,” Patrick repeated.

“Fine, and that one night when David was a fucking idiot with the film, which I _told_ him was a bad idea.”

“What’s this supposed to mean to me, Stevie?” he asked as they walked.

“That if you maybe feel there’s something there…” 

“I don’t know. There didn’t seem to be anything there this morning.”

“That’s just Idiot David,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“I have a fiancée.”

“I know,” Stevie said. “It’s not ideal, and I will destroy you if you hurt David, but I thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” They walked in silence for a while. “So, you grew up together?”

“Yep. My parents started working for the Roses when I was a kid. Mom was a maid, dad worked the grounds. We lived in servants’ quarters with the rest of the staff.”

“Staff?”

“I don’t think you have any real concept of how wealthy these people are.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’d play with David and Alexis and sometimes sleep in their rooms or with their nanny Adelina. It was better than being with my parents.

“When I was twelve, my parents were fired and we had to move. My parents were drunks. I’m amazed they managed to keep their jobs at the Roses’ for as long as they did.

“Anyway, when the Roses kicked us out, David and Alexis begged their parents to let me stay. You should understand that their parents were _not_ involved in their lives, so they gave those two whatever they wanted. Mr. Rose asked my parents if I could live with them as ‘help’ and they said fine.”

“They just left you?”

Stevie shrugged. “It was for the best, really. They didn’t have to be saddled down with their mistake. I stayed in the servant housing and had a couple weekend chores, nothing a normal kid wouldn’t do.

“I was enrolled in the same private schools as David and Alexis. They paid for college. And now I live with David.”

“Are you still in touch with your parents?” Patrick asked.

“I don’t talk to either of them anymore. They don’t approve of my ‘lifestyle’. They tried to lure me back into the family when I was in college—that’s when they found out. They only wanted me back to ‘fix’ me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No worries, I just have a different family now,” she said.

“What was it like? Growing up with the Roses?”

“It was good, I guess. All I have to compare it to was living with my parents, and that’s a low bar to hurdle. We had fun as kids. Oh, I got suspended once!”

Patrick laughed. “What? Why?”

“David and I were in the same grade and these assholes kept picking on him. We had uniforms, but David found ways to jazz them up with ascots or shiny shoes. He also was _terrible_ at any type of physical activity. Anyway, these guys always gave him shit, so one day in eighth grade, I beat the hell out of one of them.” Patrick laughed. “His parents wanted to sue. I think Mr. Rose had to pay them off. I broke his nose.”

“Did they bother David again?”

“Fuck no.”

“And Alexis?”

“Alexis was like living with a real doll who was also aggressively trying to make you into a real doll too. I let her do my hair and makeup. I wouldn’t leave the house looking like that, but I still let her do it.

“Alexis didn’t go to college. She started traveling right out of school. David still stresses when she goes a few days without checking in—she’s been in some scrapes abroad. I miss her, but we’re together a lot when she’s home; she’s like a sister. She gets into the best clubs. She parties a lot harder than David and it can be fun.” Stevie smiled. “Plus she’s friends with lush straight girls who like to experiment like crazy.”

“And you and David?”

“We lived apart in college, Barnard and Columbia, but he moved me in when we graduated. I had nowhere else to go, really. I’m a stray he keeps taking home.” Stevie looked at Patrick. “Look, I would die for those two. And usually rather die before talking about my history, but David seemed, I don’t know, happy yesterday. That’s all I want for him. Plus, I like you.”

“I like you too.” Patrick looked down. “And David I guess. I don’t know.”

“So here’s what’s gonna happen,” Stevie said, putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “David is going to ignore you because he’s an self-sabotaging asshole. You and I are going to go out this week. Maybe with David.” She eyed him. “Even if we don’t, the boys are gonna love you. This will be fun.”

***

Later that week, Patrick found himself, once again, knocking on the door on Cornelia Street. But this time he was here for Stevie.

David opened the door.

“Oh,” he said.

“I’m meeting Stevie.” David let Patrick into the apartment. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“Surprise!” Stevie yelled, running down the hallway. “Do you wanna come with us?”

David raised a brow. “Where are you going.”

“Out.”

David crossed his arms. “Out? Is that a new nightclub I’ve never heard of or…”

“We’re going to Harlem. You should come.”

David looked between them and signed. “Fine, but you’re not wearing that sweater,” he told Patrick. With that he walked to his bedroom.

Patrick looked down at his navy turtleneck. “What’s wrong with my sweater?”

“Nothing,” Stevie said. “He just shows affection by breaking down any confidence you ever had in your appearance.”

David came out of his room and handed a sweater to Patrick. “This is the Balenciaga I mentioned.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s see it,” David said.

Patrick glanced at Stevie, who just smiled.

Patrick took off the turtleneck and slipped David’s sweater over his undershirt. It was black cashmere. He looked in a mirror near the door. The material hugged his arms and chest and, well, looked good.

“I like it.”

“I knew it would look good on you,” David said. “Let me change.”

“Let’s sit,” Stevie said. “This could take a while.”

Forty-five minutes later, Patrick and Stevie were eating leftover pasta and laughing at the dining room table when David appeared.

Patrick stopped laughing when he saw David. He wore a black sweater with white accents, black jeans, and boots. The sweater had a deep v-cut and Patrick could see David’s chest hair. He clenched his fists, worried that his hands would float toward that chest of their own accord.

“You two ready?” David asked.

Stevie rolled her eyes and slapped Patrick on the shoulder as she walked by. “Let’s go before he changes his mind about his outfit.”

Patrick slipped on his overcoat. David and Stevie had leather jackets and both looked impossibly sexy.

David was somehow putting effort into being aloof as he sat between Patrick and Stevie on the A train. He held his hands out, studying his nails.

“Patrick,” Stevie yelled over the noise of the subway, “how do your nails look?”

Patrick leaned forward to look at Stevie. “I don’t know, I haven’t checked. You?”

“You check mine and I’ll check yours.”

Stevie held her hands out, leaning over David. Patrick rubbed his thumb over her nails and David huffed. She inspected Patrick’s and they had a long conversation about calluses until their stop.

“Oh my god,” David muttered as they walked onto the street. “You two are monsters. I don’t know if I want to be seen with either of you.”

Stevie wrapped her arm in his. “Yes you do!”

Patrick wrapped his arm through David’s other and they walked down the street in step. “We’ll have ever so much fun,” he said.

They reached a nightclub and David shook them off. “You’ve known each other for like four days, why are you like this?”

Stevie shrugged. “Kindred spirits, I guess.”

The club was packed with mostly black patrons. There was a full band on the stage, and low tables and chairs circled a large dance floor. The women, in glittering dresses, danced freely, moving their entire bodies to the music.

The slate walls with art deco golden inlays reminded Patrick of the pictures of his parents from the twenties. Though the ceiling was low and the cigarette smoke high, there was an openness to the space. Patrick felt like he stepped into another time. Packed with people, but offering space for him.

Patrick leaned down to Stevie’s ear. “Is this…?”

She shook her head. “No, but they don’t mind if we’re here.”

After stopping by coat check, David led them to the bar and bought drinks.

“Thanks, sugar daddy,” Stevie said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss David’s cheek. “I’m gonna go trolling.” She disappeared into the crowd.

Patrick had no idea what to expect from the night. “Do you want to dance?” he asked David.

David shook his head and perused the crowd. “Let’s just watch for a while.”

David took Patrick’s hand and led them to lean against a wall. He didn’t let go of Patrick’s hand as they stood and drank.

“The clubs up here are fun. Some welcome homosexual tourists, but this place is locals only, like the Apollo.”

“You know you don’t have to be my gay guide to the city.”

David looked at Patrick and smiled. “I’m sorry, do you have a better guide?”

“No. It’s just, you don’t need to do this. If you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind.” David shrugged.

Patrick leaned closer to David. David let go of his hand and wrapped his arm around his waist, gently rubbing his side.

“You like the sweater?” David asked.

Patrick nodded. “I really do. It’s very comfortable.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re learning that you don’t always have to sacrifice comfort for style.” Patrick opened his mouth for a retort, but David held up his hand. “The way you dress is fine, you could just incorporate some more fashionable pieces into your wardrobe.”

Patrick tapped his foot. Not in time to the music, just tapping. All night he’d been debating making the first move. As David continued to not make moves it seemed like Patrick would have to, unless David didn’t want any moves. Unless the hand-holding counted as a move? The arm around his waist had to mean something about moves.

Fuck it.

Patrick took David’s chin in his hand and turned David’s face toward his. Patrick watched David part his lips as he leaned down to kiss him.

Did tongue require a first move too? Was David being respectful, letting Patrick go there first? Was he just being polite? Do people kiss like this out of politeness?

Patrick dragged his tongue across David’s bottom lip and David opened his mouth enough for Patrick to edge his tongue inside. David pulled Patrick against him and ran his hand up Patrick’s back. Patrick kept his hand on David’s face, cradling his cheek.

As their tongues moved to the rhythm of the music, Patrick pressed David completely against the wall, a hand dipped beneath the neck of David’s sweater.

David eventually pushed them apart. “You’re a menace.”

Patrick was proud his moves managed to make David’s dimples pop. He took his and David’s empty glasses to the bar and returned, holding a hand out to David.

“Just a bit of a dance?” Patrick asked. The floor was mostly opposite-sex couples, but there was an empty corner near the bar. “I think it’s just dark enough that I can practice my steps with minimal embarrassment.”

David followed Patrick and took lead of the dance. They swayed to the beat while keeping a respectable distance.

“You’re lucky you’re so goddamn cute,” David said.

“Why?”

Stevie rushed to them. “David,” she gripped his arm, “Sebastien is here.”

“Fuck. Where?”

David let go of Patrick as a tall, objectively handsome man walked over. His brown hair was high and wild. He wore ripped jeans and a tattered sweater that somehow looked expensive.

“David, it’s good to see you.” He placed his hands on David’s face and kissed him. Patrick looked at Stevie, but she shook her head.

“Sebastien,” David said, “I didn’t know you came this far uptown.”

“I love it here,” Sebastien said. “Everything is just so… alive. So vibrant. So real.”

Sebastien looked down at Patrick. “Are you here together?”

David moved close to Patrick. “Yes. Patrick, this is Sebastien. Sebastien, Patrick.”

Patrick stuck out a hand when it became clear Sebastien wasn’t going to offer one. Still, Sebastien gripped Patrick’s hand hard and Patrick returned the squeeze.

“David,” Sebastien said, running his hands along David’s arms, “could I speak with you for a moment?”

He took David’s hand and escorted him away from Patrick and Stevie.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Sebastien Raine,” Stevie said. “David’s ex-whatever. He’s a photographer and he’s vile. He uses and abuses then leaves people for dead.”

David looked nowhere near as animated talking to Sebastien as he normally did. His arms were crossed and he kept shaking his head.

“Should we go over there?” Patrick asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Stevie said.

The men walked back and David was frowning.

“Stevie,” Sebastien said, as if he just noticed her. He planted lingering kisses on her cheeks. “Can you talk some sense into your guy and let me exhibit at his gallery?”

“I think David is capable of curating his own gallery,” Stevie said. “If the opening was any indication, I’d say he’s doing quite well.” She stepped in front of David.

Sebastien leaned back and looked at Stevie, taking in all of her. “You know, I’d love to do a retrospective of you two. Maybe recreate some of the original photographs.” He played with a strand of her hair.

Stevie slapped his hand. “I don’t think we’ll be doing that and you better not be fucking exhibiting that shit anymore.”

“Of course not. I can respect David’s boundaries.” He looked at David. “Right, David?”

David said nothing and looked at the floor.

Sebastien looked at Patrick and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “I’d rethink this one if I were you,” he said, nodding toward David. “He may seem fun to play with, well he _is_ , but he’s so needy.” Sebastien leaned toward Patrick. “And he’s been around, if you get my drift.”

Patrick shook off Sebastien and stepped until they were nearly chest-to-chest. “No, I don’t ‘get your drift.’” Patrick was not a violent man, but Sebastien lit something inside him.

Sebastien held up his hands. “I’m just trying to help you out. David has a reputation. Bit of a harlot, that one.”

Patrick lunged at him, but Stevie grabbed his waist and held him back—she was stronger than she looked.

“Why don’t you leave, Sebastien?” Stevie said.

“This place is dead anyway,” Sebastien said. He kissed David’s mouth once more and held his face in his hands. David’s eyes met Stevie’s. “You look good. Healthy. I’ll see you around, Rose.”

“Are you okay?” Patrick asked David once Sebastien was gone.

David nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah, fine. You know how exes can be. It’s never fun running into them.”

“Maybe we should go,” Patrick said.

“No.” David wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater. “We should stay, dance, drink.”

Stevie placed a hand on David’s back. “Patrick’s right, let’s just call it a night.”

After picking up their coats, they walked into the sharp autumn air. David shivered.

“Can’t seem to lose you,” Sebastien’s voice came from behind them.

“Fuck off,” Stevie said.

“David,” Sebastien said, walking toward him, “do you want me to fuck off?”

“Yes,” David said quietly.

“Hate to hear that, baby,” Sebastien said. He nodded at Patrick. “Remember: play, don’t stay.”

Stevie sped past Patrick and connected her fist with Sebastien’s chin.

“What the fuck, Budd?” Sebastien yelled, clutching his jaw.

She grabbed Patrick and David and ran down the street. “Sorry we can’t stay,” Stevie yelled over her shoulder. They kept running until she pulled them into a dark alley.

“Stevie…” Patrick didn’t know what to say.

Stevie peeked around the corner of the building then turned to Patrick. “What? He’s not gonna report a woman punching him. Jesus, I’ve been wanting to do that for years!” She grinned.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” David said quietly.

“Are you kidding me?” Stevie said with glee. “He fucking deserved it. Fuck, I should have kicked him in the balls. Next time.”

“No next time!” David yelled. “I don’t need you beating up my bullies. I can handle Sebastien.”

“Can you?” Stevie was loud. “Because I didn’t see you doing fuck all back there.”

“That’s none of your business,” David said.

“I think it is.” Stevie put her hands on her hips. “You just shrunk back into _that_ David, letting Sebastien run the show.”

“He took pictures of you too.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t let him fuck me like he owned me.”

Patrick stepped between them. “Let’s calm down. David,” he turned to him, “Stevie was trying to help, just maybe not in the best way. Stevie, you have to let David take care of himself. Attacking isn’t helping.”

David and Stevie stepped away from each other.

“I want to go home,” David said quietly.

“Okay, let’s get a cab and get you home.”

“I’ll take the train,” Stevie said. “I’m sorry, David.” She turned and walked away.

“David,” Patrick said gently, “are you okay?”

David sniffed. “Yeah, let’s just go.” He gave a weak smile. “You wanna come over?”

“I have to be at work in,” Patrick glanced at his watch, “five hours. I can’t.”

“That’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”

Patrick closed his eyes. This was a bad idea. He looked at David. “Stay with me tonight.”

David shook his head. “No, no, I’ll be fine. Sorry, of course you have to go to work. It was stupid.”

Patrick took David’s hands. “Please stay with me. I want you to.”

David looked at their hands, woven together. “Okay,” he said softly.

The cab ride was quiet. Once they were in his apartment, Patrick sat David down on the couch. He poured drinks for both of them and sat next to David.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Patrick asked.

David shook his head.

“That’s okay,” Patrick said. “We can just sit.”

After a while of drinking in silence David said, “You know, before all that nonsense, I was thinking about how good you look in that sweater.”

Patrick smiled. “I might have to get more like it.”

David kissed him like he had at the nightclub. Patrick opened his mouth and David immediately rolled his tongue against Patrick’s. He had meant to be strong, to take care of David, but rational thoughts quickly seeped from Patrick’s brain.


	7. World of the Twilight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: see end notes

  
  
Patrick never loved kissing this much. He was still awestruck that he was kissing a man—that he was kissing David—but also felt liberated. He dragged his hands beneath David’s shirt, feeling his body hair. It was thick and soft. He traced his hands over David’s chest and stomach then around his back. David’s strong muscles moved beneath his hands and he wanted more. Patrick wasn’t sure what “more” of David he wanted, just that he wanted it.

David took off his jacket and sweater, and Patrick gulped. Dark hair covered his chest and ran into his waistband. Patrick ran his hands along David’s arms, tracing the hair beneath his fingers. He knew he was staring and he didn’t care; he’d never looked at another man this closely before and hadn’t been prepared to like it this much.

“You look… you’re beautiful.”

David was on him again, circling his waist and kissing him. Patrick grabbed David’s hair and David moaned. His other hand moved around David’s back, feeling soft, hot skin.

Patrick was panting when David slid to the floor. He knelt in front of Patrick, hands on Patrick’s belt. It was happening and Patrick didn’t know what to do. David’s lips parted and soon Patrick’s dick would be there. He unzipped his pants. A tremor tore through his body, waiting for David to touch him again.

David put a hand around Patrick’s dick and Patrick put a hand on David’s cheek.

It was damp.

David tugged Patrick’s underwear, and Patrick stopped him. David didn’t look up.

“David?”

David took his hands away.

“David,” Patrick said again. “Look at me.”

David looked up with red eyes. There was a trail of a tear to Patrick’s thumb. He wiped it away.

“Hey,” Patrick said softly, “what’s going on?”

David shook his head and stood. “I’m sorry, this was—I’m sorry. I should go.” He pulled on his sweater and grabbed his jacket.

Patrick stood, zipping his pants. “Please don’t leave. What’s wrong?”

David only shook his head. “It’s nothing, it’s not your problem. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Patrick placed his hands on David’s arms. “And you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but, please, I want you to stay.”

David squeezed his eyes shut and, through his expressions, Patrick could see David's mind working this out. He sat on the couch, but avoided Patrick’s eyes.

Patrick sat next to him. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

David shook his head. 

Patrick laid his hand on David’s back and he flinched. He looked at Patrick with wide eyes, but like he was looking at something else. Something predatory.

Patrick rubbed circles on his back. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s not your problem,” David whispered.

“I know, but I’m your friend and I’m worried about you.” A small smile appeared and vanished on David’s face.

“What happened with Sebastien?” Patrick didn’t want to push it, but he didn’t know how else to help.

“We were together for a few months about three years ago,” David said quietly. “We met at an opening for someone’s show. It seemed like we had a lot in common. We were artists, we ran with the same crowd. By the end of the night I was at his apartment.

“The beginning was good. Really good. Even back then, I didn’t have a great track record when it came to relationships, and it felt nice to be with someone who seemed genuinely interested in me and attracted to me. It was more than I’d had in a while.”

Patrick continued to rub David’s back. “What happened?”

“He took advantage of my connections. As you heard, he took pictures of me and Stevie. And a lot of just me. They weren’t exactly what we had initially agreed to, but he’s so goddamn charming and persuasive in the moment it’s hard to say no. Not just when he was taking pictures. I never said no.

“I practically lived with him for three months. I hardly ever saw Stevie. He wanted me to pay for everything. Equipment, trips, drugs. I helped launch his fucking career. It started to become clear to me, far after it was clear to everyone else, that he was using me. I tried telling him ‘no’ to certain things and, well, he didn’t like that.

“Alexis and Stevie practically had to drag me away. Alexis stayed with us for months. She said she had a lot of business to do in New York, but we all knew she stayed for me.” David put his head in his hands. “I was so fucking stupid.”

“No,” Patrick said. He took David’s hands away and turned his face, leaving his hand on David’s cheek. “Even though Alexis and Stevie helped, _you’re_ the one who got out of a bad situation. That’s one of the strongest things I’ve ever heard. The bravest.”

David rolled his eyes. “Yeah, being used is wildly brave.”

“David, you’re not hearing me. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” David nodded. “I’ve known you, what, a month? And I can tell you deserve so much more. You deserve to be respected and cared for.”

David looked down again. “We’ll see if that happens. I’m sorry I put this on you.” He looked at Patrick. “Oh, god, you must think I’m a basket case.”

“No, I still think of you as David Rose, incredibly sexy gallery owner.”

David laughed. “If nothing else, I _am_ incredibly sexy.”

“Damn straight,” Patrick said. “Do you want to get some sleep? We’ve had a long night.”

“Okay, yeah,” David said. “I’ll sleep out here, this seems pretty comfortable.”

Patrick shook his head, stood, and held out his hand. “We’ve already crossed the sleeping-in-the-same-bed threshold. Come with me.”

David let Patrick pull him from the couch. “But we didn’t even do anything, I mean, I just cried at you for an hour.”

“Men with snot on their sleeves really does it for me.” Patrick walked backward to the bedroom, taking David with him.

David looked down at his sweater. “Oh, god, this is the worst thing that’s happened all night.” There was a thick line of snot halfway down the sleeve of David’s sweater.

“I’m assuming that sweater costs as much as this apartment, so yes, this is indeed a tragedy.”

Patrick lent David a pair of pajamas that were endearingly small on his large frame. They got into bed, a respectful distance between them, and Patrick turned out the light.

“David,” Patrick whispered, “I want you to know I think you’re strong and caring and brilliant. And really fucking fascinating.”

“But still sexy, right?”

“Yes, irresistibly so.” Patrick could just make out David’s form in the dark. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Um, thanks for listening.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

Less than three hours later, Patrick’s alarm sounded and he heard a whine. David’s body was a knot, as he was when they’d slept together before, but his forehead was pressed against Patrick’s arm.

***

Patrick was leaving for the office an hour later than usual, giving them time to have breakfast and for David to stop moaning “coffee” from beneath Patrick’s comforter.

They exited his apartment the same moment as his neighbor Ted. He looked surprised, but smiled politely at Patrick and David.

“Patrick! How’s it going?” He looked at David.

David extended his hand. “I’m David, one of Patrick’s roommates at Wharton. Just in town for a few days.”

“Good to meet you, David! It must be nice to have a friend you can _account_ on while you’re in New York.”

David smiled through the pun. “What do you do, Ted?”

“I’m a veterinarian,” Ted said, holding up a black doctor’s bag. “Well, should we head to the elevator? I don’t want to make you late. I know it’s a real _dog eat dog_ world out there in the _rat_ race.”

“Please,” Patrick gestured for Ted to walk ahead of them. Patrick looked at David, who had a hand over his mouth. His shoulders shook with silent laughter and Patrick smiled.

***

“Tell me again why we’re in Central Park at ten o’clock at night?”

David led Patrick from 73rd Street into the woods. They stepped onto a path that twirled through the park with tendrils of footpaths leading to the unknown. The leaves had begun to fall and half-naked tree limbs clawed at each other through the moonlight. Below were groups of men sitting on benches or leaning against bridges, smoking cigarettes or grass. Two men appeared behind an outcropping and left in opposite directions.

“Because,” David said with a smile, “this is when the ladies and gentlemen of ‘dubious virtue’ come out. Dancers, artists, poets… Also, it’s an ideal place for cruising.”

“Cruising?”

David stopped walking and looked at Patrick. “Okay, you’re an incredibly good looking human male, have you ever been looking at a window display, maybe for a while, and had a man ask you for the time? Or a light?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I don’t stare at a lot of windows.”

“Well, that, my friend, is cruising. Looking for quick sex.” They started walking again. “So is hanging out here at the Ramble.”

“I’ve always heard this happened here, but I didn’t know it was true.”

David spread his arms around. “This is it. Most men don’t have homes they can bring someone to and they’re just looking for a quick fuck. That’s it.”

“Isn’t it… uncomfortable?”

“It’s not the ideal topography, no, but we do what we have to.”

A man passed, his eyes lingering on Patrick.

“See?” David said. “That’s it. In Europe they call this the ‘World of the Twilight’.”

“David, do you want me to… should I find somebody?”

“That’s up to you. We can just walk if you’d like or if someone strikes your fancy… you only have to do what you’re comfortable with. I thought this was an important part of society you should know about.”

They kept walking. “It seems like you want me to be with someone else.”

“This isn’t coming out right. I just want you to have the full experience,” David said, gesturing.

Patrick stopped walking and wrapped his arms around David’s waist. “Can’t you give me the ‘full experience’?”

David yanked Patrick off the trail and led him along choppy terrain of shrubs and roots until they were away from the lamp lights. David gripped Patrick’s shoulders.

“What I want,” David said against Patrick’s throat, “is to get on my knees and suck your cock right here, right now.”

Patrick kissed him, leaning David against a sycamore tree, and was transported back into that little world. Into the world where nothing existed but their bodies. He trapped David in place with a press of his hips and his hands on the sides of David’s neck.

There was no control in this world they created. Patrick’s tongue advanced, with clear desperation, into David’s mouth. He imagined looking down and seeing David look up at him, Patrick’s dick in his mouth, waiting to swallow.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Patrick said, lips sweeping David’s ear.

Patrick lowered himself in front of David, knees sinking into the soft earth. He looked at David.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

David nodded. “If you’re sure. You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Patrick smiled. “I want to.”

“Okay.” David unzipped his pants and pulled down his briefs.

There it was. It was maybe the same size as his? David was circumcised, and the skin along the shaft was smooth and taut. Patrick had seen other men in locker rooms and such, but had never been near enough to study one. Patrick had no idea what to do, he just knew he wanted David in his mouth.

He ran his hands along it. Another man’s penis. David’s penis. 

David was hard and Patrick wrapped his fist around him and stroked a few times, just to see what happened. David moaned and at the sound, Patrick opened his own slacks.

Patrick licked along the head, then took it in his mouth. It was weighty and kind of salty and felt so, so good. Patrick pulled back and inhaled. It smelled like David, but also different, stronger, with a musk that was new. Patrick’s dick was begging just from the scent and Patrick gripped it, stroking.

He took more of David in his mouth and swept his tongue along the underside of David’s dick. It was in his mouth and Patrick’s hand was moving on his own dick and had never been so turned on in his entire goddamn life.

Patrick used his free hand to circle the base of David’s dick where his mouth reached its limit. He moved his mouth down David’s dick and back again. David made a guttural sound, placed a hand on Patrick’s head, and teased his hair.

Patrick’s mouth was full of David, his ears full of David’s sounds, and his hand full of his own cock. Patrick was lost in the park, knowing nothing but this moment.

He quickened his hand and came. He didn’t want to come before David, but he couldn’t stop himself. He moaned around David’s dick and created more suction. His jaw was starting to ache, his hand was covered in his cum, his knees were damp, and it felt perfect.

“Patrick.” David tapped the side of Patrick’s head. “I’m gonna come.”

Patrick reinforced his grip on the base of David’s dick.

“You don’t have to…” Patrick held the head of David’s dick in his mouth, trying to pull David’s orgasm into his mouth.

“Fuck.”

David filled Patrick’s mouth. He lowered his hand and slacked his jaw around David, letting him come. Tremors continued and Patrick held him in his mouth through the aftereffects of what felt like, well, a pretty good orgasm.

Patrick pulled his mouth off David, who was slumped against the tree. He’d kept the cum in his mouth, not trusting himself to attempt swallowing with a dick also in his mouth, and swallowed.

David took Patrick by the shoulders and pulled him up, and David’s tongue went about tasting himself in Patrick’s mouth. His fingers were still in Patrick’s hair and tugged his head back.

David’s eyes searched Patrick’s entire face and then he smiled.

“You’re incredible,” he said. “That was really your first time? Really?”

Patrick pressed his head to David’s neck, suddenly timid. “Really, really.”

David ran his and over Patrick’s back. “You were perfect,” David said, his breath hot on Patrick. “You looked so good with my cock in your pretty mouth. And you came. You came with me filling your mouth.”

Patrick made an affirmative sound.

“We need to get out of here,” David whispered. They zipped their pants and Patrick stumbled after David back to 73rd.

“You have to be careful here,” he told Patrick. “Cops go undercover and will arrest you on the spot.” He hailed a cab. “I’ll drop you off on my way downtown.”

Patrick ached to be invited to David’s, but it was clear David preferred to sleep alone. Despite them having shared a bed. Twice.

Once he was in his apartment, Patrick flopped on the bed, clinging to the haze that enveloped him. He really should wash up, but didn’t care. His fingers skirted around the dried cum on his stomach. He came because he’d sucked off David. David came. He must’ve done an adequate job for that to happen.

It was magical—making David feel good. Patrick felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily coded past abusive relationship. (Only in first scene.)


	8. The Gamble We Make

"I’m sorry, are you wearing a _dress_?” 

Patrick stood on a corner in the Bowery, watching Stevie walk toward him in a black cocktail dress. Her hair was pinned up, she wore black elbow-length gloves, and carried a small leather bag.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Stevie said. “I can’t wait to get out of this fucking thing.” She tugged the fabric around her narrow waist. “How does anyone wear this shit?”

“Why _are_ you wearing that? I thought you said we were going to a nightclub?”

“We are,” Stevie said, taking his hand, “I have friends who work here and it’s just easier this way.”

She pulled him through a nondescript doorway and with that led to a basement, just like the first place he had been with David.

A gruff looking man in a tuxedo stood just inside, and, like that first club, his face lit up when he saw Stevie.

“Budd! It’s been a while,” he said. His voice was high and soft. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Patrick. Patrick, this is Pen.” They shook hands. “Friend of David.”

Pen rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Of course?

“Penelope and I go way back,” Stevie said.

“Penelope?”

Stevie laughed. “That’s it! That’s the face I was waiting for!”

“Did you tell this poor boy, _at_ _all_ , where you were taking him?”

“Sorry, Patrick,” Stevie said. “Couldn’t help myself.”

It was clear now that Pen was a woman. Her skin was soft and body curvy, filling out a shiny tuxedo with her hips in a way a man never could.

She was beautiful.

“It’s a revue,” Stevie explained. “Ladies—”

“—who happen to be men—” Pen interjected.

“—Perform all night. It’s loads of fun, promise.”

Penelope handed Patrick a program like he was at the theater.

Stevie ran her fingers through Penelope’s dark, slicked-back hair. “Call me.”

Stevie grabbed Patrick’s hand again and led them down the steep stairs that opened into a club full of life. Patrick paused at the foot of the stairs to take it all in. Elaborate banquettes with rose-colored velvet chairs and white tablecloths filled the room. He touched the leaves of a plastic palm frond. Mirrored columns reflected the pink and mint color scheme, making the room seem larger than it was.

Groups sat at the tables laughing, smoking, and having their pictures taken.

Stevie still had his hand and led him across the scuffed laminate floor to a long bar that faced a large white stage. Gold curtains bracketed the stage with strings of lights swinging between them.

“Stevie!” A bartender hustled to them. “Fuck, you look good in a dress.”

“Thanks, doll, but I’ve got to change back into a pumpkin.” The bartender leaned and Stevie accepted a kiss on the lips. “Okay if I go backstage?”

“Sure, you know the girls don’t mind. What can I get you?”

“Sidecar.”

“Same,” Patrick said.

“Comin’ up!”

“I’m gonna get out of this contraption, you fine to wait for our drinks?”

“Of course.”

Patrick leaned against the bar when a tall, stunning woman appeared before him.

“Friend of Stevie’s?” she asked.

Patrick nodded. “Patrick.”

The woman shook his hand. “Dorian.”

Patrick was at a loss for words. He hadn't expected this level of glamour. Dorian had an hourglass figure, long lashes, and wore a white ball gown that draped the floor. Her blonde hair was piled in a large bouffant. 

“First time?” Dorian asked, her ruby lips smiling. Patrick nodded. “You’re in for a treat. I’ve got to get ready to go on, grab a table up front, honey. And have fun.”

The bartender slid two glasses down the bar and Patrick made his way to an empty table near the stage.

Stevie flopped into the seat next to him. “Much better,” she said.

Stevie still wore the heels from her earlier ensemble, but with a black tuxedo. A violet cummerbund wrapped her waist and a matching bow tie hung about her neck, untied. Her hair was down, back to normal.

“You look magnificent,” Patrick said.

Stevie smiled and took out two cigarettes, lit them, and passed one to Patrick. “I try,” she said with a shrug.

Stevie glanced at her watch. “It’s ten-thirty, time for the first show to start.”

About twenty men dressed as housewives walked on the stage to applause.

Patrick was transfixed. Each performer sang and danced. The choreography rivaled Broadway, and Patrick had no idea how it was pulled off in high heels. He closed his eyes during “You Let Me Down,” and he could swear he was hearing Billie Holiday with a voice that could fill Carnegie Hall.

> I was even looking for a cottage  
> I was measured for a wedding gown  
> That how I got cynical  
> You put me on a pinnacle  
> And then you let me down

The ensemble ended with a scene from _Lysistrata_.

> By the two Goddesses, now can't you see  
> All we have to do is idly sit indoors  
> With smooth roses powdered on our cheeks,  
> Our bodies burning naked through the folds  
> Of shining Amorgos' silk, and meet the men  
> With our dear Venus-plats plucked trim and neat.  
> Their stirring love will rise up furiously,  
> They'll beg our arms to open. That's our time!  
> We'll disregard their knocking, beat them off—  
> And they will soon be rabid for a Peace.  
> I'm sure of it.

The ladies took their bows and Patrick clapped and whistled.

“That was incredible!” he shouted over the applause.

Stevie nodded. “Knew you’d like it. There’s another show in an hour. Do you want to hang around? See what filler acts are up?”

Patrick nodded, still struck by the theatrics. A juggler took the stage, then a body contortionist. He was on his third drink when the lights flashed.

“Fuck!” Stevie jumped up and grabbed his arm. “It’s the cops—this way.”

They ran past the stage and through a dressing room to stairs jutting up to street level. Stevie kept ahold of Patrick through the crowd. They rounded the corner and saw a paddy wagon backed up to the front of the club.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stevie hissed. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, idiot! So they don’t think we’re gay.”

Stevie took him by the shoulders and pressed against him. She ran a hand down his cheek and kissed him, prying his mouth open with her tongue.

Patrick ran his hands through her hair. He had just been in a club of beautiful crossdressers and now he was kissing Stevie in the middle of the street. He heard his pulse in his ears and gripped Stevie’s hair, and she kept them in the kiss.

She eventually pulled her mouth away and took his hands from her hair, entwining their fingers. She leaned her head on his shoulder to get a look at the club. Performers were corralled by officers. None of the cops look their way.

“Shit, okay, let’s go.”

They were quiet in the cab ride to her and David’s apartment. Patrick was processing everything that happened. The drinks, the songs, the arrests.

***

Stevie ushered Patrick into the apartment. David sat in the olive chair reading a book.

“Where have you two been?”

“Club Chrystie,” Stevie answered. She and Patrick dropped to the sofa. 

“Did Errol Flynn keep it in his pants this time?”

“There was a raid.”

David shut his book. “Fuck. Mob bust?”

Stevie shook her head. “Didn’t look like it. Just dykes and transvestites. The usual.”

“Jesus Christ, this city.” David looked at Patrick. “You okay?”

“Yeah. That was just… terrifying. Does that happen a lot?”

“It happens enough,” Stevie said. “They round us up, hold us overnight, and put our names in the paper. I’m sorry, Patrick, I thought we were safe there.”

She threw her head against the back of the couch. “Shit, there goes my one dress.”

“I’m sure Alexis has another pity dress for you.”

“What was the deal with that anyway?” Patrick asked.

Stevie scooted sideways to face Patrick. “So, as you saw, the performers are men and the staff women, right? The crowd all straight?” Patrick nodded. “For those who work at the club, it’s safer to be discreet when coming and going.”

Stevie stood. “Well, I’m off to bed. I’ll go to the precinct in the morning and see who needs bailing.” She smiled at Patrick. “Thanks for coming out with me.”

“It was fun until it was horrifying.”

Once Stevie left the living room, David examined Patrick’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding two too many times. “It was just scary. Wasn’t expecting that.”

David shrugged. “It’s the gamble we make.”

“Why?” Patrick asked softly.

“Why what?”

“Why do you risk everything? Your name one time in the paper could ruin your life. Your job, your family.”

David nodded. “That’s true.”

“And going to places like the Rambles? That just seems dangerous. I can only imagine the violence…”

“You’d be imagining correctly.”

“Why put yourself in that situation?”

“What else are we supposed to do?” David asked. “We already live in the shadows, not live at all? You’re right—it’s scary and it’s dangerous, but it’s what we have to do to be ourselves. To find other people like ourselves. To have some kind of community.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “Seems like a lot to risk.”

David stood and held out his hand. “Let’s talk in my room.”

Patrick nodded, took David’s hand, and followed him.

Patrick could see the room clearly now, lit with a table lamp. A large vinyl collection filled a bookcase along with pictures of David, Alexis, Stevie, and—presumably—his parents, taken through the years at various exotic locales. Paris, Israel, all manner of beautiful beaches. The walls wore a warm burgundy grasscloth wallpaper, contrasted with black and white bedding. A wardrobe stood in the corner next to a creamy chaise lounge.

David closed the door behind them and kept Patrick’s hand in his. 

“You’ve had fun the past few weeks haven’t you?” David asked. Patrick nodded. “This is the fun we have with our friends. The way we celebrate who we are with no shame, no judgement.”

“That sounds nice…”

“It’s all types of people. Couples, ‘confirmed bachelors’,” David touched Patrick’s cheek, “married men.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he whispered.

David ran a thumb across Patrick’s lips. “You don’t have to make any major life decisions right now. Tonight you’re here and you’re safe.”

Patrick looked in David’s eyes a beat and stepped closer. He felt a compressed warmth run down his spine, into his legs. His eyes moved to David’s mouth and his insides coiled more, ready to spin open at any moment. Trying his best to control his body, Patrick placed a hand on David’s shoulder.

David took Patrick’s lips between his, nudging against them. Patrick opened his mouth and gripped David’s hands to keep from falling.

David backed him up against the door. He slumped against it and let go of David’s hands. One hand traced shapes on the nape of Patrick’s neck and the other now slipped beneath the bottom of his sweater.

Patrick clung to him and David eventually pulled away.

“You okay?” David asked. Patrick nodded. “You’ve gone still on me again.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” David kissed along Patrick’s neck. “Just as long as you’re having a good time.”

“Jesus,” Patrick breathed as David pressed his hips to Patrick’s, trapping him against the door. “Having a very good time.”

“Let’s get you nice and relaxed,” David purred in his ear, “and on the bed.”

Patrick closed his eyes as he sat on the corner of David’s bed. What does he do now? There had to be a logical next step. His brain had to come up with something to do.

Shoes!

No matter what was happening, it shouldn’t be in shoes. He unlaced his Oxfords and took off his socks. Socks shouldn’t be there right?

He looked at David, standing next to him. He tossed off his plush house shoes and was now barefoot. Got it right.

“Still with me?” David asked with a smile.

Patrick nodded. He shuffled back on the bed, sitting against the pillows.

“Nervous?”

Patrick shook his head; David raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe a little.”

David removed his sweater and straddled Patrick’s waist. “We’ll go slow.” He twirled his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “Don’t ever cut this.” David watched his fingers move through Patrick’s waves.

“Okay,” Patrick whispered before pulling David’s mouth to his. His fingers dove through David’s chest hair, which was a contrast to the dusting of fluff on his own chest. The heels of his hands grazed David’s nipples, causing him to press harder against Patrick.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled away to toss it on the floor. David looked down at him and made low noise.

“I have to see all of you,” David said. His hands went to Patrick’s pants, quickly unfastening and unzipping. Patrick fumbled with David’s jeans until David waved him away and opened them. David pulled his jeans, then briefs, down and did the same for Patrick and suddenly they were naked.

No one had ever looked at Patrick the way David was looking at him. He licked his bottom lip as his eyes traversed Patrick’s body. David placed a hand on Patrick’s chest and he felt a flash of heat just from one hand, skin-on-skin.

Patrick finally took his eyes off David’s to look at his body. He’d seen his chest, he’d even seen his dick, but never David’s legs. Never all of him at once.

David was dark with hair from his arms to his legs. It was a shock to see him and to _want_ him. To feel anxious, but also safe.

“Fuck me,” Patrick breathed.

David kissed Patrick’s lips, Patrick’s throat, Patrick’s collarbone. His sternum, his abdomen, his right hip, his left.

Hot breath covered Patrick’s rigid cock. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” Patrick said. He didn’t think—he didn’t want to. Just wanted, see, touch, taste.

David knelt between Patrick’s legs, swerving his hands along Patrick’s thighs.

“Anything for you, beautiful.”

David smiled, closed his eyes, and licked up the length of Patrick’s dick. He licked again. Patrick missed a few breaths watching David. He put his mouth around the tip of Patrick’s dick, teasing his foreskin before slowly, achingly lowering his mouth.

Patrick knew he was trembling, but how could he not? He had no words in his brain to process his feelings. He watched his dick disappear into David’s mouth over and over again. David fit his hand snug around Patrick’s balls and Patrick’s head fell against the pillow. His hips rose from the bed. He hadn’t meant to shove his dick in David’s mouth. He looked down and felt David whimper around Patrick’s dick.

Patrick’s head fell again when he felt himself in David’s throat. Patrick thrust over and over until he was too close.

“I’m going to come.” He was filled with ecstasy and disappointment. Once again, he hadn’t meant to come so quickly, but there was no stopping.

Patrick gripped the sheets and shouted as he let go into David’s mouth, feeling him swallow. David crawled along Patrick’s body and kissed him.

He’d never tasted himself inside someone’s mouth before. He tasted kind of like David did; his tongue danced in David’s mouth, wanting it all.

As soon as their mouths parted Patrick said, “I didn’t mean to come.”

David smiled and caressed Patrick’s neck and shoulder. “I did. I told you I wanted you relaxed.” Half his lips tugged into a smile. “And I had to know how you taste. Exquisite, like I knew you would.”

Patrick, brazen in afterglow, pushed himself on top of David and scrapped his nails down David’s chest and stomach. He took a nipple into his mouth and David placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He nipped at each one and David shuddered. He kept up his assault and took David’s dick into his hand.

It was warm and smooth. He teased it with his fingertips and kept licking, sucking, biting David’s nipples until David grabbed his shoulders and flipped Patrick on his back. He slithered along Patrick and clasped his hands, spreading them across his bed.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured against Patrick’s ear. “I’ve wanted to do this since I met you.”

“You have?”

“Of course.” David said, squeezing their hands. “You looked so good in that suit.”

David raked his teeth along Patrick’s throat as he spoke. He went about sucking Patrick’s neck into his mouth, whispering he wouldn’t leave any marks. Thoughtful, but Patrick wished he could be branded as David’s.

“You liked my suit?”

David laughed against Patrick’s shoulder. “God, no.” David looked into his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t look good.”

Patrick squeezed their hands. “What’s wrong with my suits?”

David settled his weight on Patrick. He could feel David’s erection brushing his stomach, grazing Patrick’s already half-hard dick.

“Too corporate for my taste.” David let go of their hands so he could steady himself as he rubbed against Patrick. David nosed Patrick’s chin. “You look much better in sweaters. And like this.”

Beneath David, Patrick blocked out the rest of the world. He wrapped his legs around David’s waist and arms around David’s back.

It felt so natural.

“Oh my god,” Patrick breathed. He’d never been with someone like this—handing over the reins of his body. “You feel so good.”

David kissed up Patrick’s neck to his chin and his cheek. “Are you ready for more?”

David gave a good shove of his dick against Patrick’s.

“More what?”

“More me.”

Patrick clawed down David’s back, earning a low sigh. “I’m ready.”

David leaned up and grazed his hands down Patrick’s side. “I’m going to open you up.” He ground against Patrick with a steady rhythm. “Get you ready for me.” He bent forward and took both their dicks with one fist. “You’re gonna feel so good.”

He reached to the nightstand and opened the top drawer, removing KY Jelly, a condom, and a towel. He handed Patrick one of his down pillows. “Under your hips.”

He squeezed the lubricant onto both hands. One slowly stroked Patrick’s dick and the other slid lower and pressed against Patrick’s hole.

“Fuck,” Patrick gasped and pushed down on David’s finger.

David smiled. “Open your legs.”

David helped Patrick place his feet on the bed and spread his knees so he was completely exposed, but Patrick didn’t feel what he thought he would—something like… shame? He felt awkward, he was still somewhat self-aware, but mostly he felt wanted. David looked like he had in the club bathroom and at the park. Lips parted, chin jutting out, eyes determined. He circled his finger around Patrick, his other hand still gently stroking him.

David slipped a finger inside Patrick. Patrick’s eyes closed and he sank into the pillow beneath him.

“Have you ever done this to yourself?” David asked. He moved his finger so it nearly left Patrick, before filling him again.

Patrick nodded.

David twirled his finger inside Patrick. “Did you like it?”

Patrick nodded again.

“Are you ready for another?”

“Yes,” Patrick panted. “Yes.”

David pulled his finger out and Patrick felt lost.

David added more lube to his fingers. He kissed one of Patrick’s knees. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay? We don’t have to do everything tonight.”

Patrick nodded and David pushed two fingers into him. His body was found, connected to David. His hips moved with David’s fingers.

The fingers curled inside him and Patrick jerked at the feeling. Heat flooded his body, causing a rippling of euphoria. 

David increased the pressure and Patrick groaned, grabbing his thighs to steady himself and open his legs wider.

“You’re doing so well,” David told him.

Patrick had fingered himself in the past, creating incredible orgasms followed by him lying in bed while his brain valiantly tried to not think about what he’d done. About how it wasn’t something he should want. About how it wasn’t natural. But David’s fingers were bigger, at a better angle, and now there were two and it was beyond anything Patrick had ever experienced. One finger felt good, but two fingers felt sublime. 

On his back, with David above him, Patrick was fulfilled. He looked at David, who was leisurely stroking him, and smiled. David smiled back. David’s hand was wrapped large around Patrick and felt so different than his own. David’s right forearm disappeared between Patrick’s legs, muscles flexing. Patrick’s hands fell to the bed and he watched David. They watched each other for a while, not speaking.

“Do you want a third?” David as softly. Patrick nodded. Patrick felt empty again as David pulled his fingers out for more lube, but he was soon touching him again.

David slowly slid three fingers into Patrick. Patrick closed his eyes. Three fingers were almost too much, but Patrick wasn’t concerned. He wanted to be overflowing with David. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensations weaving through him. He wanted even more than this. He wanted David to take all of him.

“Doing okay?”

Patrick opened his eyes and nodded.

“Good,” David said. “You look like you were made for this. You’re so fucking pretty spread on my bed.” David kissed down Patrick’s thigh. “Are you ready for me?”

Patrick exhaled and nodded. “Please.”

David let go of him, wiped his hands on the towel, and opened a condom.

“I’ll go slow,” David told him. “Let me know if you need to stop.”

David took Patrick’s legs off the bed and pressed them forward. “Hold for me.” Patrick gripped his shins, tilting his body back.

“Deep breaths,” David whispered.

Then David was inside him. Patrick had no idea how much of David it was, he just knew it wasn’t all, and knew he was finally just this side of _too_ full. He needed more of that feeling. More... _too_. David held himself above Patrick, eyes darting between his. Patrick nodded.

David pushed in more, causing more pressure. He carefully moved inside Patrick, letting him adjust. Patrick pulled his knees closer to his chest, changing the sensation, and David’s eyes closed for a moment.

“You’re doing so good for me,” David said. “I’m going all the way now. Just relax.”

Then David was in and Patrick was full and his brain buzzed and he felt stretched and he saw nothing but David’s eyes.

“Relax,” David whispered again. “Let go.”

Patrick closed his eyes and his body felt heavy, like getting in bed after a long day. Too wrung out to do anything. David was so much. “Relax.” David moved inside and Patrick and he let David take over.

Patrick tumbled into feeling nothing but David inside him. He hadn’t known what to expect—he realized he didn’t really have any expectations. His mind could never have dreamed what he was feeling. There was nothing but warmth inside Patrick, around Patrick.

David rested his forehead on Patrick’s, and Patrick opened his eyes and quietly returned to David. “Breathe.” Patrick pressed his knees into David’s sides and let go of his legs. He clutched David with his arms and let himself be rocked.

David kissed him and Patrick squeezed his eyes closed. His legs faltered and he grabbed them. David’s tongue hit Patrick’s with each thrust of his hips. Patrick gripped the back of his thighs and pulled his knees up, offering a deeper angle.

David leaned up and took Patrick’s legs from him. Patrick reached out and David kissed his wrist, resting his head in Patrick’s palm.

“More,” Patrick said.

“You sure?”

“Yes, more.” Patrick was in no way sure if he could handle it, but damn if he wouldn’t try. His entire body was turning into David, letting David fill him completely, letting David make his body feel everything all at once.

“I need,” Patrick started, “I need to come while you’re inside me. I need to.”

“You will. Touch yourself for me and you’ll come.”

Patrick’s hand dropped to his dick. There was some lube left and Patrick felt like his body might betray him again by immediately coming, but David stilled as Patrick stroked himself. 

All his feelings converged where he and David met. He kept stroking himself, watching David watch him, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“David.” He was coming. He was coming and saying David’s name: a man’s name, a royal name, a holy name. 

Patrick felt his cum splatter on his chest. David put his hand over Patrick’s and guided him through.

David gently laid Patrick’s legs down as he pulled himself from Patrick. Patrick opened his eyes to see David smiling down at him as he slowly stroked himself, condom discarded.

“Come on me?” Patrick whispered. “I want to feel you.”

David nodded and quickened his hand until he came across Patrick’s abdomen with a heavy breath and a growl. David covered him, hot and quick, mixing with his own cum.

David leaned on his elbow next to Patrick and took his chin in his hand, kissing him. “How are you?” he asked, his breath heavy against Patrick’s mouth.

“Good,” he managed.

David wrinkled his brows together. “You sure?” He wiped his thumb near the corner of Patrick’s eyes.

“Am I crying?” Patrick asked.

David ran his hand through Patrick’s hair. “You are.” He kissed Patrick’s forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”

Patrick laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

David turned on his back and pulled Patrick against his chest. “Well, you’re the giddiest weeper I’ve ever seen.”

Patrick sniffled, still laughing. “I’m just… happy.” He looked up at David. “Is that weird?”

“No,” David said. “Are you usually happy?”

Patrick answered, “No,” without a thought.

“Me neither,” David said.

“Are you? Now?”

“Happy? Yes.” He kissed Patrick again and rolled him against the pillows. “I’ll be right back.”

Patrick watched David disappear into the bathroom. He looked down at himself. He dragged a finger through their cum and put it on his tongue. He laughed again and felt like crying again. He attempted composure as David returned, but immediately failed.

David knelt next to him and wiped a warm towel across his stomach. “Giggly, are we? Generally not the response I’m looking for.”

“It’s just…” Patrick watched David wipe him clean. “It’s unreal. This feels unreal. Like it happened to someone else, or should have happened to someone else…”

David stretched next to him and took his hand. “It happened to you. To us.”

“I know,” Patrick whispered. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

Patrick wrapped his arms and a leg around David. As close as he could get. This was real.

“So,” David said, “I guess I’ll get you a cab.”

Patrick’s eyes widened.

“I’m kidding,” David said. “You’re staying right here.”

“You’re mean.”

“I know.” David dropped kisses on Patrick’s cheeks and forehead.

David helped Patrick stumble to the bathroom, into a too-big pair of his pajamas, and back to bed. He gave Patrick water and tucked him into his comforter. They fell asleep with David on his back and Patrick on his side, one arm across David’s chest.

***

Winter overtook autumn as Patrick continued to spend his nights in bars, coffeehouses, theaters, museums. He ran through the city with Stevie. He spent as many nights with David as allowed. Patrick happily ensconced himself in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Club Chrystie" is based on Club 82, where Errol Flynn would allegedly take his penis out and play the piano with it.


	9. Christopher Street

Patrick and David strolled along the Christopher Street pier at dusk, holding hands. It was one of the few places safe enough to do so, therefore Patrick dragged David there as often as possible. He waited for the novelty to fade, but it never did.

It was a few days into the new year and Patrick, who normally didn’t bother with resolutions, had resolved to do one thing.

They reached the end of the pier and watched the sun setting beyond the Hudson. Purples, reds, and oranges melted together in the sky. Patrick turned to David and took both of his gloved hands in his. David looked down with surprise, and cocked his head when Patrick managed to take David’s eyes in his.

He could do this. He wanted to.

Deep breath.

“I love you.” Patrick’s voice sounded shakier than he’d like, but at least it was out there. 

David took a step back and dropped Patrick’s hands.

“What?”

Patrick reached for David, but he pulled away.

“I just wanted you to know. I mean, I’ve been feeling this way for a while and thought I should tell you.”

David started a beat, then waved his hands. “Why?”

“I wanted to tell you because I love you. I thought you should know that I love you.” Patrick wove his leather-covered fingers together. “It’s something nice to say.”

“No, it isn’t.” David folded his arms across his chest.

“What are you talking about? It’s one of the nicest things someone could say. And you don’t have to say it back right away—”

“Oh, I won’t,” David said.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s how I feel.”

“That’s not what this,” David gestured between them, “is. This isn’t for that.  _ I’m _ not for that.”

“I don’t really think you get a choice. I can’t help it—that’s not how feelings work.”

“What did you think would happen here?” David asked. “When you brought me here for the, I’m assuming, romantic setting, what did you think would transpire after you said those words?”

“What?” Patrick whispered.

“Did you think we were gonna go steady? That I’d wear your letterman jacket?” David scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck, this is my fault. This is why I don’t do long-term, spending the night shit.” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“For me to fall in love with you?” Patrick’s voice rose. “I didn’t either, but here we are. It’s no one’s fault. Jesus, there’s no fault! There’s no blame, this isn’t a bad thing, David.”

“So, what are we doing here then? We’re not getting married. You’re not bringing me home to your parents.”

“I just want you to know how I feel, how—how did that turn into something bad?” Patrick shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “As for that other stuff, you’re right, but we can be together. Like we are now.”

“So this would just continue,” David said, “for an indeterminate amount of time? For the rest of our lives?” David shook his head and laughed. “Have you left your  fiancée yet, Patrick? How do you think she’d feel about her husband-to-be’s boyfriend? Would that go over well?”

“I didn’t think…” Patrick felt the tears forming.

“Yeah, you didn’t,” David snapped. “I’m not doing this. I’m not being your secret. I mean, I have been, but I’m not being a boy-on-the-side. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Why does anything have to change?” A tear slid down Patrick’s cheek.

“Because this was supposed to be fun. You can’t have fucking fun if you start throwing around words like love.”

“I’m not throwing it around!” Patrick was shouting, his voice beyond his tears. “I love you.”

David paced away from Patrick and back to him. His face softened and Patrick dared to hope…

“I’m sorry,” David said softly. “I can’t do this, Patrick.”

David kissed Patrick’s cheek and walked away.

This time he didn’t turn back.

***

Two weeks passed and Patrick heard nothing from David. Patrick would normally deal with something like this by sending flowers and chocolate, but David had spat the word romance, so that wasn’t going to work. 

He passed the Rose Gallery account to an associate.

Patrick was hurdled into his old life. A life he barely recognized and didn’t know how to live. He doted on Rachel, at a loss for who to love. The thing of it was, he loved Rachel. He always had, and when he tried to imagine a life without her, it looked hazy and wrong. But he couldn’t have both lives in tandem. That wasn’t fair to anyone.

Still, he had to do something, even if he didn’t know where it would lead. That’s how he found himself walking into four different co-op galleries on 10th Street.

Patrick entered gallery number five and wondered if there was even a point.

“Excuse me,” Patrick said to a paint-speckled man just inside the door, “I’m looking for an artist, Stevie Budd?”

The guy tilted his head toward the back of the gallery. “Back there.”

“Thanks.”

Patrick rounded a partition and almost slammed into Stevie.

“Patrick,” she said with surprise, “what are you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you?”

Stevie sighed. “Patrick…”

“How is he?”

Stevie sighed again. “He’s fine.” She hopped on a work table, legs dangling. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you.” She unfurled her hair from a bun held together with a paintbrush. A streak of blue paint cut her cheek.

“I understand, he’s your friend, I just… Stevie, I need someone to talk to. I have no one else.”

“I know.”

“So he told you what happened?”

“The stupid thing you said? Yes, he told me,” Stevie said.

“Was it that stupid?”

“On a good day David doesn’t do relationships, you know this. Love,” she shuddered at the word, “means a relationship.”

“You don’t like love?”

“Well that just makes me sound like a monster. I just don’t  _ get _ love. Why I’m supposed to feel it or want it or have people feel it about me.”

Patrick sat next to her on the table. “So how’s it going with the waitress?”

“Who, Twyla?” Stevie asked.

“You know damn well whom I’m talking about,” Patrick said with a soft laugh. “You say you don’t do relationships, yet she’s been around a lot the past few months.”

Stevie ran her hands through her thick hair. “I know… I know. She’s—she’s special. I guess. I like her… like having her around.”

Patrick smiled and bumped his shoulder into Stevie’s. “Sounds like you like her a lot.”

“Hey, I thought you were here to talk about your fucked up love life.”

“So, you admit you have a  _ love _ life.” Patrick kept smiling.

“Ugh, no I don’t! She’s just nice.” Patrick cocked his head, eyebrows up. “Okay, fine. Maybe the L-word has been mentioned by her. I don’t know what to do with it. You like love, what do I do?”

“I think most people like love,” Patrick said. “But, I can tell you this, if you have feelings for her, if she makes you happy, then you should hold onto that. It’s something precious,” Stevie rolled her eyes, “that most people don’t get to experience. You should tell her.”

Stevie kicked his foot. “You glad you told David?”

Patrick groaned and ran his hands down his face. “Yes?”

“You sure, slugger?”

“Maybe I was naïve to think we could work, that it was sustainable.”

“You think?”

Patrick leaned forward and looked back at Stevie. “I don’t know what I thought. I was so comfortable with David, with you… I was having fun, I felt free. But maybe that’s all it was. Fun.”

“Sometimes that’s all it can be. Our options are pretty limited for long-term happiness,” Stevie said, and Patrick buried his face in his hands. “Look, I told you from the start that I thought you were good for David and that he liked you. I still think that and wish it could last, but it just can’t.”

“I don’t know if he ever liked me.”

Stevie slid off the table and stood in front of Patrick. She pulled his hands away from his face and held them in hers.

“You know I have to stand with David,” she said and Patrick nodded, “but I’ll tell you this—he didn’t see anyone else the entire time you two were together. No one, even though you had a fiancée and even though you never put a label to it.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Patrick smiled weakly.

She kissed him on the cheek.

“Good bye, Patrick.”

***

Patrick existed in a fog the next few weeks, but it eventually started lifting. He loved Rachel, he had a good job, good friends. Friends who were getting married and having kids, so that’s what he wanted. It looked pretty good.

“Patrick!”

Patrick turned around and there, in his building’s lobby, stood David.

Patrick quickly strode over. “What are you doing here?” His eyes darted around, but no one was looking.

“Your neighbor’s a veterinarian, right?” David asked, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah, what does that have to do with anything? David, what do—”

“We need your help,” David said.


	10. Debris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: see end notes

“Jesus Christ, David, she needs a doctor.”

“No can do, little lamb.” Alexis slid out of a town car, bracing Stevie in front of her. “No hospitals.”

Patrick looked at David who shook his head. “Okay, come on.”

Patrick hustled them into the lobby and now people  _ were _ staring. Stevie barely stood, supported by David and Alexis. She was bloody and dirty.

They fell through his apartment door and collided with Rachel, who yelped. She took in the sight of Stevie, glanced at Patrick, and grabbed Alexis’s hand.

“Lay her on the sofa,” Rachel instructed. 

Rachel draped an afghan across Stevie’s tattered clothing. Alexis sat on the floor, not letting go of Stevie’s hand. Rachel knelt next to her.

“Honey,” Rachel said, brushing a hand through Stevie’s hair, “can you hear me?” Stevie moaned and opened her eyes. “You’re okay, you’re safe. Look here’s—”

“Alexis.”

“Alexis. We’re gonna take care of you, all right?”

She stood and walked to David. “What can we do?”

“Patrick said your neighbor is a veterinarian? We thought he could help.”

“I’ll get him.” Rachel hurried past Patrick and out the door.

“What the hell happened?”

“She got jumped in the park,” David said quietly. “Couple guys didn’t like the way she looked.”

“Jesus,” Patrick breathed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go,” David said.

“Don’t apologize, of course I’ll help.”

“Thanks.” David wiped a tear from his eye and paced the room until Rachel returned followed by Ted.

Pain flashed on Ted’s face before it was replaced with a smile.

“So, here’s the patient,” he knelt next to Stevie. “Can you follow my finger?”

Stevie watched as he moved his finger in front of her. He flashed a penlight in each eye.

“Okay, you’re officially more well-behaved than an Irish setter I saw today and I offered her cookies.”

Stevie smiled and Alexis laughed.

“Smiling is good. What’s your name?”

“Stevie Budd.”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“So far so good.” Ted opened his doctor’s bag and began sorting things on the coffee table. 

Ted methodically examined Stevie’s head, neck, and each arm. A cheek was swollen and a furious red bruise was creeping toward her eye. Her hair was full of leaves and stuck to the side of her head, glued with dry mud. The skin on her arms was frayed like she’d been dragged. “Stevie, is it okay if I open your blouse?” She nodded.

“We’ll have to flush some of these wounds,” he said, “just to get the debris out, but so far it looks like we can sew you back together.” He winked at Stevie and she smiled again. There was a gash across her collarbone that seemed to have stopped bleeding a while ago. Patrick wondered how long they had waited for him.

“Why didn’t you take her to a hospital?” Rachel quietly asked David.

“We can’t.”

Alexis turned around, still holding Stevie’s hand. “Lesbian.” Very matter-of-fact.

“If her family found her,” David said, “they’d commit her. We can’t risk it.”

“You don’t need a people doctor, you’ve got me!” Ted said with a smile. “Though I don’t hate the thought of you getting a follow-up. I’m going to palpate your ribs, can you take deep breaths for me?”

Stevie took shaky breaths. “Anything hurt?” Ted asked as his fingers walked down Stevie’s sides. Stevie shook her head. “Ribs don’t seem broken, but there may be some bruising. I don’t see any signs of internal bleeding.” He closed her blouse. “Did they kick?” Stevie nodded. 

“I’ve been kicked by a horse before,” Ted told her and her eyes widened. “I’m okay, I think she was trying to tap out ‘I have a toothache’ in  _ horse _ code.”

Alexis giggled.

“Legs scraped up pretty good?” Stevie nodded again.

Ted stood. “I’m gonna get a few things together. Be right back.” He looked at Patrick, Rachel, and David, nodding toward the kitchen.

“She’s been beat up pretty badly,” Ted told them. “I, uh,” he cleared his throat and looked at Rachel, “don’t know if anything else happened, so if you could ask her…”

“Of course,” Rachel said.

“What happened?” Ted asked David.

“We were meeting for dinner,” he said, tugging his hair. “Alexis and I found her a few blocks from the restaurant. She could barely walk.” He paced the kitchen. “Fuck.”

“She’ll be fine,” Ted said. “We’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you,” David whispered.

Rachel entered the kitchen. “Nothing else to report.”

Patrick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Sounded like David did the same.

Ted took care while wiping her scrapes with pieces of gauze. He dressed a few of the deeper scratches with honey from Patrick’s kitchen and sutured the cut on Stevie’s chest. Alexis held a bag of frozen peas to Stevie’s cheek.

Ted eventually put his equipment away. “I’ll give you some pain meds. Monitor for infection and come back if anything seems like it’s taking a turn for the worst. I’d like to keep you overnight, do you mind a sleepover in my guest room? It’s a dog-free zone.”

“I’ll get a nightgown,” Rachel said, “and something to wear home tomorrow.”

“Should she have company?” Alexis asked Ted. “Maybe like a nurse? When I was living with Cary Grant I had to bring Howard Hughes fresh orange juice every morning after his plane crash, so I can totally help.”

“Good idea,” Ted said. “I’ll get the room together, come on over when you’re ready.”

Ted shook hands with Patrick and David before leaving.

“Alexis,” Stevie said, “did you just use my current state to hit on a cute veterinarian?” Alexis tugged at her earrings and scrunched her nose. “That’s my girl,” Stevie laughed.

David knelt beside Stevie and he looked in more pain than she did.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning.” He brushed her hair from her face. “And get you a shower.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Alexis took David’s hand and placed it on hers and Stevie’s. “I’ll take care of her.”

David stood and sniffled. He turned away from Stevie as tears finally started leaving his eyes. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said to Rachel.

“She’ll get through this,” Rachel told him. “She seems tough and she has you and Alexis.” She squeezed David’s arm. “I’ll make sure Ted gives her his number and some instructions.”

David smiled. He held his hand out to Patrick. “Thank you.”

The trio left for Ted’s apartment.

“Wow,” Rachel whispered once the door closed. “I hope she’s okay.”

She set about cleaning up the living room, her back to Patrick. He heard her in the kitchen, clanging dishes. And he heard a sigh.

“So…” Rachel began, sitting on the sofa, “we need to talk about this.”

Patrick sat next to her. “David’s a client, he runs an art gallery.”

“A client who knows where you live and knows Ted.”

“We were having lunch in the area and he needed to use the phone…”

“Patrick.” Rachel turned to him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve known you our entire lives. I know when you’re lying. You’ve been distant for months now. I tried to shrug it off, tell myself it was pressure from work, but it’s something else, isn’t it?”

Patrick leaned forward. He could not cry. Crying would not be fair to Rachel.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Is it David?”

He looked at her, eyes wide. “What? No—why would you think that?”

“I saw the way he looked at you. The way you looked at him. Have you been… spending time with him? With them?”

Patrick averted her gaze. “Yes,” he said softly.

Rachel jumped from the couch. “What the hell, Patrick? How long? While we had Thanksgiving with my parents, while we had Christmas with yours? While I cooked for you and took care of you?”

“I’m—I’m sorry. I fucked up. I was scared.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“And say what? That I’m seeing a man? That I’m sleeping with him?”

“Yes! Don’t you trust me?”

“Always… I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry, Rachel. I thought…” He wiped an escaped tear. “I love you, I do. I love being a team with you, I love talking to you at the end of the day, I love seeing you happy. Making you happy.”

“Well, you kind of messed up that last one, don’t you think?”

Patrick slid off the couch and knelt in front of Rachel. “I'm so, so sorry. I know there’s nothing I can say to change this, to make it better. You deserve so much more than this.”

“I do.”

Rachel sat on the couch and Patrick tried to grasp her hands. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You mean for me to find out?”

“No, yes, I just mean that I didn’t expect this to happen. Then it did and I got scared.”

“You could have just told me,” Rachel said. “I would never out you.”

Patrick nodded. He rested his head on Rachel’s knees, giving up any strength. Any resolve. Any fight to not make this about him and to act like the man Rachel deserved, even at the close.

They sat in silence. Patrick buried his face in her skirt and clutched it in his hands like a frightened child holding onto its mother.

“Do you love him?” Rachel’s voice sounded heavy. He looked up.

“Yes.”

She ran a hand through his hair. “Does he love you?”

“I don’t think so,” Patrick murmured. “I managed to fuck it up with him too. I haven’t seen him for weeks, he won’t talk to me.”

“Patrick.” Rachel pried his fingers from her skirt. “I’m angry. I will be for a while.” Her voice was even. “I have to go home, a single woman, and make up an excuse as to why. You lied to me, you cheated on me, you didn’t trust me with the truth.”

Patrick nodded.

“But,” she said, “I love you. As much as I want that to change right now, to flip a switch, I can’t. I still want what’s best for you, you giant asshole.”

Patrick laughed and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you go sooner. I wanted to keep you. I was selfish. I was stupid. I need you to be happy.”

Rachel stood. “I will be. Eventually.” She wiped her eyes. “You sleep on the couch tonight. I’ll stay over to check on the girls in the morning. Then I’m leaving.”

Patrick nodded and stood. “Thank you.”

Rachel slid her arms around his waist. They held each other so long Patrick’s arm fell asleep across Rachel’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - Description of injuries from a beating.
> 
> Alexis's name drops: after his plane crash, Howard Hughes credited orange juice, and not doctors at the hospital, for his recovery. When he was discharged he stayed with lifelong friend Cary Grant.


	11. Yellow

David stood in his apartment door, arms folded. He buzzed Patrick into his building, so that was something. David wordlessly allowed Patrick to step past him and closed the door.

“How’s Stevie?” Patrick asked.

David stared at a point over Patrick’s shoulder. “She’s fine.”

It was Friday, three days after Stevie’s beating, three days after her being cared for on his couch, three days since Rachel left.

“Good, I’ve been worried. Ted told me he’d check on her this weekend.”

“What do you want, Patrick?”

“I wanted to tell you… I wanted you to know…”

“Spit it out.”

“Rachel and I broke up,” Patrick said. 

“Not surprised.” David continued to look past Patrick.

“Yeah, she picked up on… stuff, when you guys were at the apartment.”

“Sorry to ruin your romance. I know you were planning on getting married, having kids, moving to the suburbs. All those nice things people do.”

Patrick reached out to touch David, but decided better of it.

“I’m glad we ended things,” Patrick said. David finally looked at him, face blank save for a raised brow. “I mean it, I don’t want those things you said.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I thought we could talk about seeing each other again. I know I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

“So you had no choice in breaking up with your fiancée and thought you’d come here and we’d be back to normal?”

“I was hoping for something more,” Patrick said quietly.

David laughed—a bark that made Patrick flinch.

“Did you think I’ve been pining away for you? _I_ left, Patrick. I’m out of whatever game this is.”

“It’s not a game!”

“It kind of is,” David said. “You were dealt a surprise hand Tuesday and now you’re trying to, what, cash in on a relationship?”

Patrick looked at his shoes. “I guess this was a mistake.”

“You think?” David’s voice rose. “You’re here, asking me to take you back in a relationship that never was.”

“Then I’m asking you if we can start something new.”

David waved his arms. “You’re here because you got caught! You didn’t leave her for me as some grand gesture. You gambled the way so many men do, but you were found out.”

“I know none of this was ever fair to you—or Rachel—but I was weak, I was scared. I’m glad it’s finally over—the secrets, the sneaking around. It was kind of a blessing in disguise.”

“What was?” David stepped closer to Patrick. “Stevie almost getting killed? Having to take her to a veterinarian because hospitals have records and her parents hate who she is? Do you think that was fucking worth it, Patrick? That was a good trade? Stevie for your stupid fucking relationship?”

“No,” Patrick whispered. “That’s not what I meant. I hate what happened to Stevie, it’s sickening. I just meant Rachel finding out was a good thing. I was trying to get the courage to tell her—I really was—but we’ve been together since high school. She was safe and comfortable and I loved her. I didn’t know how to destroy that.”

“You probably destroyed that when you sucked my dick,” David spat.

“Fair,” Patrick mumbled.

“And just because you don’t have a girlfriend doesn’t mean we can be together. Are you going to risk your job? Your way of life?”

“My job has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, but it does,” David said. “One whiff of dick on you and you’re ruined. You won’t work in New York again.”

“Well, I have to work.”

David shrugged. “My family is a fucking empire and we don’t care who we hire. Are you going to come work for us?”

“I don’t need a hand-out,” Patrick snapped. “I can handle it.”

“You’ve done a crack job of that so far. So you want to be with me, but keep your job. And, I’m guessing, your apartment, now that you’re a permanent bachelor? People _never_ pick up on that situation.”

“Are you saying you want me to move in?” Patrick challenged.

“I don’t _want_ you to do anything! I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not your friend.”

“How can you say that?” Patrick yelled. “Just because I told you how I feel? You’d throw away months of _some_ kind of relationship because I have feelings and feelings are inconvenient for you? We’re not friends, but I just did a huge favor for you this week?”

David narrowed his eyes and his voice was low and even. “Don’t you dare bring Stevie into this.”

“Patrick?”

They turned to see Stevie standing at the end of the hall, outside her bedroom.

“Stevie,” Patrick’s voice strangled at the sight of her. “How are you feeling?”

An entire side of her face was purple and her eye wasn’t completely open. There were bandages on her arms and her collarbone was held together with string. She wore an oversized Columbia shirt and baggy pajama pants.

She looked tiny.

She quickly shuffled in her slippers and grabbed Patrick in a hug. Patrick glanced at David over Stevie’s shoulder, but he looked away.

Patrick put his arms around her. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she said to his chest. “Thank you.”

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he murmured in her hair.

“I know.”

Patrick pulled away and touched the clear side of her face. “How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess. Doesn’t hurt as much, I just look like a mess.”

“But _how_ are you doing?” Patrick asked.

“Fine, been resting.”

David cleared his throat.

Stevie sighed. “I haven’t left the apartment. Or slept alone. Or talked to anyone who isn’t a Rose.”

Patrick brushed his fingers through her hair as they spoke.

“Then I’m honored.”

Stevie smiled. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I didn’t do anything, Ted and Rachel did everything.”

“You helped. Rachel was an angel.”

“We ended things.”

Stevie squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, but maybe that was for the best?”

“It was,” Patrick said. “I just wish it was under drastically different circumstances.”

“Patrick was just leaving,” David said, wrapping an arm around Stevie’s waist. Patrick dropped his hand from her hair.

Stevie looked from David to Patrick. “I know there’s a lot going on here, but… can you stay?”

“You want me to stay with you?” Patrick asked softly.

Stevie tugged at the bottom of her white shirt. “Please?”

Patrick glanced at David. “It’s her place too,” he said.

“Of course I will,” Patrick said.

David let go of Stevie and left the room, muttering he’d lend Patrick a pair of pajamas.

***

Stevie’s room was cheerier than Patrick expected. Pale yellow damask wallpaper covered the walls along with a few photographs of landscapes and nudes. A long Queen Anne table was cluttered with charcoal, pastels, pencils, and sketch pads. Her bed, with periwinkle bedding, was unmade and a hamper was overflowing in the corner. 

Patrick and Stevie tucked into bed, facing each other.

“So you haven’t been sleeping?” Patrick asked.

“I _have_ , I just don’t like to sleep alone.”

“I’m so sorry this happened.”

Stevie shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve never been harassed before.”

“But this was worse.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I thought they were going to kill me.”

“I wish you could’ve gone to a proper doctor.”

“Thank you for getting Ted’s help. He was amazing.” Stevie smiled. “He’s out with Alexis right now.”

“What?” Patrick laughed.

“Makes a nice little silver lining,” Stevie said.

“Ted’s a great guy,” Patrick told her.

“I’m sorry about you and Rachel.”

“No, like you said, it was for the best. I should’ve told her a long time ago. She didn’t deserve that. She deserves so much more.”

“You really love her,” Stevie said.

Patrick nodded. “I do. I always have. And now I’ve messed everything up so very royally, I’m alone.”

“You won’t be forever.”

“I think I deserve it at this point,” he whispered.

“You don’t.” Stevie placed her hand on his arm. “You’ll end up with someone good.”

“How? David was right. I’ll always be risking my career. My family’s reputation, Rachel’s reputation.”

“You’ll know if it’s worth it.”

“Have you talked to Twyla?” Patrick asked gently.

“No, I can’t let her see me like this.”

“She’d probably want to know so she could help. Wouldn’t you?”

Stevie groaned. “Yes… but that doesn’t mean I want her help. It’s not going to happen.”

“Okay.”

They were silent for several minutes. Patrick closed his eyes and listened to Stevie’s breathing.

“Do you think I’ve lost David forever?” He whispered, half hoping she was already asleep.

“I really don’t know about David,” she said. “He refuses to talk to me about it. He’s been hurt so much in the past, I think you took him by surprise. A lot of not great people have come in and out of our lives, and you were the first one he truly felt was nice. That he respected. So when the word _love_ came around, he got spooked and now he’s protecting himself.

“We have friends in similar situations, and they’re never completely happy, not really. There’s always something hovering over them, someone waiting to be hurt. Break your heart now, you can’t break his later.”

“So then this was a no-win game?”

“I’m sorry.”

In what seemed like a minute later, Patrick woke up. Stevie was next to him, wound into a ball. She was frowning—why couldn’t she at least be happy in her dreams?

Her hand was still on his arm and her head half on his pillow. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer.

She moaned then Patrick felt her body stiffen. She was awake.

“It’s okay,” he said. Patrick held up his hands and backed away from her. “It’s me, you’re okay.”

Stevie’s eyes were wild in a way that reminded Patrick of the feral barn cats he grew up with.

“Stevie?”

Her eyes gradually focused on Patrick. She smiled weakly, her breathing still erratic, and then anguish overtook her features. Patrick pulled her head to his chest and let her cry until she fell asleep.

***

Patrick folded David’s pajamas and left them on Stevie’s bed. He joined her in the kitchen for coffee. David sat in his usual spot in the living room, reading the paper, and didn’t look up as Patrick passed.

“Promise you’ll call if you need anything,” Patrick told Stevie.

“Promise.”

“I’m glad you’re okay… overall.”

Stevie smiled. “Me too.” She looked from David in the living room to Patrick. “Thank you.” She kissed his cheek and left the room.

Patrick stepped into the living room and stood shifting his weight. 

David crinkled the newspaper as he dropped it in his lap. “What do you want, Patrick?”

“I guess, just, to say goodbye?”

“Is that a question?”

“And to thank you,” Patrick said.

“For what?” David’s eyes flashed from steel to soft to steel again.

“You changed my life. I wasn’t myself until I met you. You showed me who I could be. You held my hand and brought me into a world I never imagined I belonged in.”

David closed his eyes and nodded. He walked to Patrick and put his hands on Patrick’s arms.

“Be who you are,” David said quietly. “Live how you need to.”

He softly pressed his lips against Patrick’s.

“Goodbye, Patrick.”

***

Patrick sat on a toilet seat in a club downtown. He needed to find a way to traverse this world; had to find a balance of normal life and… this.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. The man on his knees moaned around Patrick’s cock. Patrick had been there maybe ten minutes before leading a stranger to the men’s room.

The guy’s mouth was incredible. Patrick didn’t realize how techniques would be so different, but this man wasn’t David. This was a perfunctory act.

He can’t compare though. That was done. And, really, was this so bad? He gripped the man’s hair and grunted, coming in his mouth. He could have this whenever he wanted. Patrick stood and pulled up his pants. He didn’t need anyone to lead him anymore, he’d learned enough to live this way for himself. He smiled at the man and walked out of the stall.

He sat at the bar and watched men dance and kiss and laugh. Were they all here only for tonight? Were any of them together outside this place? Was anyone in love?

Patrick paid for his drink and left. His lonely apartment was waiting for him, like it has been every day for the past two weeks. It was another night, just like the last.


	12. Two New Yorks

Patrick watched the rain falling outside his office window. Black umbrellas canopied the sidewalk below.

He tried meeting men at bars and baths, but nothing was giving him what he needed. Which was to not feel hollowed-out. To not feel like everything was ripped away from him except this job. He stopped going anywhere except the office. The only people he saw were Ted and Alexis. They invited him in for drinks every time they bumped into him in the hall; he knew the desperation hung about him like a fog. The one good thing was that he was able to hear about Stevie’s progress.

On his way home in the evenings, he could see part of the city tucking in for the night and part of it coming alive. The windows at Macy’s turned from Valentine displays to reflections of men with colorful handkerchiefs. The parks turned from children to rustling bushes. Married couples made their way uptown, passing single people on their way down.

He walked a bridge between these two New Yorks, high and precarious. The city felt muffled on both sides. He was afraid to reach for either version because if he fell, he may never get up again. He’d be absorbed into that world.

But if that were true… what would happen if he decided to jump?

***

Patrick took a deep breath and opened the door to Rose Gallery. It was mid-afternoon on a Thursday, and only one customer was there, having a painting wrapped by David. Patrick looked over the walls, seeing how the exhibit had changed, and tried not to feel David’s gaze burning the back of his neck.

The patron exited and Patrick froze. He rehearsed all last night and this morning. There were certain points he needed to cover, things that needed to be said, questions asked. He turned and looked at David.

“What are you doing here, Patrick?” David sounded tired.

Patrick forgot his opening remarks.

“I need to tell you something.” David shook his head. “Please, David. Just let me explain and, if you want, I’ll be gone for good. I swear.”

David huffed and locked the front door. He didn’t look at Patrick as he led them to the studio and poured himself a scotch. He sat down behind the desk. “What is it?”

Patrick shifted his weight, clasped his hands together, and cleared his throat.

“I quit my job.”

David blinked. “What?”

“I quit my job. You were right, I didn’t want to be part of that world anymore. I couldn’t live separating two parts of who I am. So I quit.”

David took a long drink. “What world do you see yourself living in now?”

“Uh, I was hoping to live in a new world? I guess? With you?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I want to be with you, David.”

“I didn’t ask you to quit your job.”

“I know.”

“And if I decline… whatever offer this is?”

“Then… I guess I’ll figure it out.” Patrick rounded the desk and knelt in front of David. “I’m in love with you. And I think you feel—”

“You don’t know anything about how I feel.” David stood and walked to the other end of the studio.

“That’s fair.” Patrick crossed half the room, giving David his space.

“I told you I don’t _do_ this Patrick.”

“But you don’t have to be a secret anymore! I mean, insofar as we can, I wouldn’t hide you. I’d put you first.”

“Okay,” David sighed, “maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I don’t do _relationships_. I’ve tried a couple times with people in and out of ‘the world’ and it doesn’t work out. I’m no one’s long term situation.”

“But we’d be different. _I’m_ different. I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s still not the point. You aren’t listening. I don’t want a relationship. Not with you. Not with anyone. I’ve designed my life for no attachments and made no room for them.”

Patrick walked closer. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have room!” Patrick’s voice rose. How did he always end up here with David? “I’ve seen your life, remember? It’s lovely, but it’s empty.” David narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but Patrick held up a hand. “Yes, you have Stevie and Alexis and art and your family, but I know it’s empty.”

David folded his arms. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because mine is! Even when I was with Rachel, it was! There was always something missing.”

“Then go find it somewhere else,” David growled.

“ _You’re_ what’s missing, David. You are. I don’t want anyone else.”

David brushed past him and marched to the gallery door. Patrick followed, staring at David’s hand on the doorknob.

“I’ve listened to what you’ve had to say,” David said. “Now leave.”

The world became small again. The two New Yorks, Patrick’s two lives, everything in the past months narrowed to the pinprick of David’s expression.

It was neutral.

Patrick left.

***

Patrick sat at his kitchen table, updating his _curriculum_ _vitae_ _._ Now he had to look for a job, because he was an idiot. Sure, maybe there was another person out there… but in his mind’s eye, there was only David.

Should he move to Chicago? San Francisco? He had college friends in both cities.

He blew up his career, and for what? He talked to David a week ago and hasn’t heard from him since.

A knock on his door made him jump.

He opened the door and couldn’t help but smile.

“Come in,” he said.

“Thanks.” Stevie stood with her hands buried in her coat pockets. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” Patrick said. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“No thanks,” she said. She hung up her coat and sat on the sofa. Patrick sat next to her.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Much better. All healed up.”

“And sleeping?”

“All by myself like a big girl!”

Patrick laughed. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“David.”

Was it possible to feel relief and panic at the same time? Patrick was glad someone wanted to talk about David, but he was also terrified of the message.

“What about him? He made it clear he doesn’t want me and I told him I won’t bother him anymore.”

“I know,” Stevie said. “The thing is… I think you’re bothering him anyway.”

“What?”

Stevie sighed. “He’s been moping. He went out a lot after the _love_ debacle, I think searching for something to make him feel better. Now he doesn’t go out at all. I’m helping with the gallery because he’s barely there anymore.”

“You said _I’ve_ been bothering him?”

“He hasn’t used those words exactly….”

“What did he say?”

“Ugh, fine, he won’t talk to me about it. He told me when you showed up at the gallery, but that was the last of it. If I ask, he says there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Okay, Stevie, I’m going to need some more information here.”

“Look, David’s been hurt a lot. The aftermath is usually sitting in his pajamas, eating black and whites, and watching _The Philadelphia_ _Story_ _,_ followed by massive partying. That’s how it was after Sebastian, after a terrible college girlfriend, when his parents were being extra shitty. This is different.”

“How?”

“He had no sad cookie time. He gets dressed, but stays in. If I bring Twyla home, he hides.” Stevie placed a hand on Patrick’s knee. “He barely talks, Patrick. To me, Alexis, anyone. Which you know says a lot about David.”

Patrick smiled. One of his favorite things about David was the way he spoke—the signature cadence of his voice, the unrestrained movements of his hands.

“I gave him another chance. I risked everything.”

“I know,” Stevie said. “And giving him space was good, respectful. But…”

“What?”

“No one’s ever sacrificed something for him before,” Stevie said. “I think it frightened him. He’s not used to being fought for.”

“But I’m fighting _him_ for him.”

“And David’s a neurotic, self-sabotaging loon. He ran away when you said you loved him and he’s hiding now. He’s spent over thirty years developing this armor to save himself from pain. If hurt gets through he just makes it stronger.”

“I’m not chasing him. I can’t deal with that rejection again,” Patrick said. “It hurts too much. I have to protect myself too.”

Stevie nodded. “Absolutely, I’m just saying… maybe don’t lose hope?”

“What does that mean?” Patrick dug his hands through his hair. Stevie took her hand from his knee.

“I’m talking to him,” Stevie said. “He’s a captive audience. His eyes are sad in a way I can’t explain, and I know it’s because of you.”

“You’re talking to him… about me?”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s meddling, but it’s stuff he needs to hear. You’re an amazing person, Patrick, and I think you would be good for him.”

“Then what the hell do I do now?” Patrick asked.

“What would you say to him if you could?”

Patrick leaned against the couch and closed his eyes. “That I miss him. That I think about him all the time.” He opened his eyes. “That, despite everything, I’m not sorry I told him I loved him. I want him to know. That I didn’t give up the fight because I don’t want him, I did it because I want him to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

“I won’t tell him you said that, but I will yell at him about the sentiment.”

“You yell at him?”

“Sometimes!” Stevie flailed her arms—she was clearly someone who grew up among the Roses. “He’s been a real handful; it’s exhausting.”

Patrick smiled. “Sorry.”

Stevie attempted to look angry with him, but eventually broke and rolled her eyes. “You’re worth it.”

“Am I?” he asked with a grin. “You must really like me to go through this much trouble.”

Stevie swatted him with a throw pillow. “You know I do, you jerk.”

Patrick’s face softened. “Thank you, Stevie. You’ve been a great friend.”

“So have you.”

The honeyed words sat between them.

“Okay!” Stevie jumped up and tried to covertly wipe her eyes. “That’s enough of that, I gotta get going.”

Patrick helped her put on her coat.

“Will I get to see you again?” Patrick asked.

“Come by the gallery sometime.”

Patrick gathered her in a hug. “I will,” he whispered into her hair.

She returned his hug.

“Now you’ve got me in willing displays of affection,” she said, “so I must go.”

Patrick dropped a kiss on her cheek.

“So Twyla, huh?

“Okay, buh-bye, Patrick!”


	13. Intentions

“Are you sure he wants me here?” Patrick asked, for maybe the third time since Stevie met him at the subway station.

“I told you, yes.”

“Okay, but is this a David wants to see me situation, or a Stevie wants David to see me situation?”

Stevie stopped on the sidewalk. “Patrick Brewer, are you questioning my intentions?”

“Yes! Absolutely, one hundred percent.”

Stevie rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, hurrying them down the street and up the steps of the brownstone.

Stevie had called him an hour ago and told him to meet her downtown. Now he was crossing the threshold into David’s apartment.

David stood up from his chair in the living room.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Patrick answered.

Stevie looked between them as they stared at each other. “Okay,” she said with a clap of her hands, “great start guys, I’ll leave you to it.”

“You’re leaving?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah, I have a thing.” She looked at her wrist that didn’t have a watch. “See you, boys!”

Patrick and David were left alone.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said, “Stevie basically forced me to come here, so I can go…”

“Do you want to go?”

“No, I mean…” Patrick closed his eyes. “What do you want, David? Stevie didn’t exactly make that clear.” He opened his eyes and watched David’s face take a trip down confused/fond/nervous boulevard.

“I want you here.” David said it so softly, Patrick was sure it was a figment of wishful thinking.

“You do?”

“Um…” David moved stacks of books and newspapers from the sofa and sat. “Sit. If you, uh, if you want.”

Patrick sat down, leaving a respectable distance between them.

“Stevie did _strongly_ suggest I talk to you,” David admitted. “And I think I want to.”

“You _think_?”

David shook his head. “No, I know I do. I had her call in case you said no. Which maybe you should have.”

“Why?” Patrick’s irritation ratcheted up alongside hopefulness. “You say you want me here, yet keep offering me the door.”

David looked down. “Because maybe you should take the door,” he mumbled.

“Jesus Christ, David! Just tell me what you want from me!”

David flinched at Patrick’s volume.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said quietly. “I want to talk to you. I’m glad Stevie called me.”

“I realize I’ve pushed you away. A lot,” David said. “And you deserve to know why and to know how… I feel.”

“Okay.”

David looked at him, and Patrick saw the sadness that Stevie mentioned, floating just below his eyes.

“As you may have gathered, I don’t have the healthiest romantic history,” David said. “I’ve never… gone steady, or whatever, with someone for longer than maybe three months. I’ve come to accept that I’ll never have any significant attachments. I learned a long time ago that it’s not them—it’s me.”

“David, I don’t—”

“I know, I know. You give me a lot more credit than I give myself. Please just let me get through this.”

Patrick nodded.

“The pattern’s been that people think I’m fun—rich, connected, willing—and we play around for a while, but I eventually get to be too much for them. I’m needy. I guess… fuck.” David tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. “I guess I always wanted a real relationship, someone who would be there for me. A partnership. So I want too much from people.”

David laughed. “If you ask Stevie, this stems from my—and her—childhood. Not enough attention, not enough love, blah, blah. Sad little rich boy, never getting my needs met. Apparently I assume no one wants me because my parents were absent for so much…”

David wiped his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”

“I’m glad you are,” Patrick said softly. “I’m still here, David. I want to know everything.”

David nodded. “Like I said, I’m living on the assumption I’ll essentially be alone. I spend my time looking for quick attachments. Whoever thinks I’m pretty enough for an evening or interesting enough for a weekend at Fire Island.

“I have a lot of sex.” David glanced at Patrick. “I like it, I’m good at it. I let myself be available for it. That’s what I thought I was doing with you. Having fun.”

“We did have fun,” Patrick said.

“We did.” David smiled. “But you kept coming back. That doesn’t happen, it’s not my _modus_ _operandi_. But I liked you, so I let you stay. I knew I was setting myself up for heartbreak for the inevitable time you didn’t come back. There’s been men who were new to this, like you, and I’d guide them and sleep with them, and they’d leave. I’m good for practice.”

He swiped at his eyes again. “It felt like you cared _so_ _much_. About me. I wanted you—I wanted you to be here as much as possible before moving on. You’re so fucking _nice_ _,_ it’s like I got addicted.”

“I never said I wanted someone else.”

“I know you didn’t.” Patrick sat very still as David continued. “I’m not good for you. Not good enough.”

“What are you talking about? I—”

“I’m broken. There’s too much shit in my past that would eventually come out and be too much to handle or you’d think less of me—”

“I don’t think you’re broken.”

“I know. But I am. Very much so.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, “but maybe I could make it better.”

“You have got to stop saying things like that.” David’s voice shook.

“David, nobody’s perfect. We all have pasts.”

David nodded. “You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve let be done to me. I _use_ people Patrick. They don’t just use me, I use them. I used you.”

“You didn’t.” Patrick reached out and took David’s hand. “You didn’t use me. I wanted everything that happened between us.”

A weak smile fought its way to David’s mouth. “I’m glad you feel that way. But I still don’t think I’m—”

“If you say you don’t think you’re good enough for me one more time, I’m going to pull every book off those shelves and throw them on the ground.”

David laughed and squeezed Patrick’s hand. “All right, all right. But you should go into this with your eyes open.”

“So you admit it—we’re going into something?” Patrick batted his lashes.

“Oh my god, it’s irritating how cute you are.”

Patrick wove their fingers together. “I’m sorry, please continue.”

“Well, you saw a fairly good representation of my past with our run-in with Sebastien.” David touched his eyes again, not letting tears fall. “Turns out I’m a sucker for people who call me beautiful.

“I put myself in a few other bad situations. I won’t go into detail, but Sebastien was kind of the worst of it.”

“You deserve better.”

David shrugged.

Patrick slid closer and gripped his hand until David looked at him. “You deserve better, David. When I look at you, I see a man who loves his family, who takes care of them, who would do anything for them. A man with enough brilliance to curate a successful gallery. A man who accepts people as they are.” Patrick nudged him with his shoulder. “And that fact that you’re really fucking pretty is just a bonus.”

David looked at him for a beat, then laughed. Tears finally fell as they laughed together on the sofa.

“Look at me,” Patrick said, and David obeyed. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but I want to stay. If that’s even where this is going.” Patrick let go of his hand and covered his face. “Damn, that was presumptuous of me, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Patrick lowered his hands and David stared with an intensity that made Patrick want to hide again. It was like looking at an eclipse.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” David said. “I only thought you deserved an explanation.”

“No, when I told you… what I said came out of nowhere. I didn’t stop to think how’d it make you feel.”

“ _Did_ it come out of nowhere?” David whispered.

“No, I don’t think it did,” Patrick answered. “We were only… together for a couple months, but, Jesus, David, I never felt anything like I did when I was with you. I felt right—whole. I’d been missing a part of myself my entire life and I didn’t know it. You gave me that missing piece.”

He reached out, hand stopping short of David’s cheek to fall on his shoulder.

“You were that missing piece.”

David stood and walked the length of the living room.

Patrick was too much again. He keeps saying things he shouldn’t. It’s like he’s narrating one of Rachel’s pulp romance novels.

David eventually stopped in front of Patrick. “You can’t mean that.”

Patrick stood. “I do.”

David shook his head and began pacing again. “This is your first time out with a man. You’re just attached like, I don’t know, like when ducklings follow people at the park.”

“You think I’m a duckling?”

David didn’t answer.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy?”

David grabbed Patrick’s shoulders. “Why are you like this?” Another smile was edging its way to his face. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“I know.” Patrick smiled. “But you’re wrong. It’s you.” David huffed. “In the past couple weeks I’ve been… testing the waters, duck pun not intended.” Patrick put his hands on David’s and pulled them from his shoulders. “Nothing has felt right but you. I feel right when I’m with you.”

David tugged his hands from Patrick and walked away, muttering something.

“What was that?”

David spun around, his face scrunched like smelling a bad odor.

“I feel right when I’m with you. Things don’t hurt as much when I’m with you.” He avoided Patrick’s eyes.

Patrick’s lips twitched. “So maybe we’re good for each other?”

David crossed his arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay,” Patrick held up his hands in surrender.

David stepped toward Patrick, stopped, and backed up.

“I’m scared,” David whispered.

“Of what?”

David rolled his eyes. “Feelings.”

“We all have feelings.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I want them!” David yelled, making Patrick jump. “Doesn’t mean I want yours.”

“Don’t you think this is scary for me too?” Patrick squared his shoulders and marched toward David. “I quit my job. I went through so much school, worked so many hours, and I just threw it away. I was engaged to the best friend I ever had, and I let her go. I have no idea what I’m doing here! I don’t know what to do with you. If you want me to stay or go, I have no goddamn idea what’s going to happen.”

Patrick stood close enough that he could feel David’s breath on his face. “What do you want, David?”

“What?”

“What do you want?” Patrick shouted. “For god’s sake, regardless of… the rest of the world, what do you want?”

“I don’t—”

“David,” Patrick said softly. “Please tell me.”

David closed his eyes and took two deep breaths. It sounded like he said “you.”

“What?” Patrick whispered.

David opened his eyes. “You.”

Patrick, who had dared to dream, felt like he was falling into a mirage.

“Are you sure?” Patrick asked.

David bit his lip. “What, um, what do you want?”

“The same.” Patrick reached for David’s hand. David’s hand was real, this was real.

“You want you?” David asked with a smirk.

Patrick nodded. “Yes. Also you.”

They stood inches apart, holding hands. With the sun setting through the window, Patrick wondered how he got here, to this perfect moment.

Patrick rubbed his free hand on the back of David’s neck and pulled him closer.

The moment their mouths touched Patrick’s tears slid down his cheeks. His emotions always rose to the surface with David. They wrapped their arms around each other and David felt better than Patrick remembered. Patrick fit perfectly inside David’s arms, David’s broad shoulders pressing against him. David’s stubble burned and his back was strong and his lips were soft.

Patrick's body relaxed like it had been holding itself together its entire life, forcing it into a certain shape. He held on to David, letting him fold Patrick into a new, comfortable, right shape. They licked each other’s mouths and kissed each other’s cheeks, damp with tears.

After a long while, they pulled apart. David’s hair was mussed and eyes red and Patrick was certain he looked the same. They laughed.

“I thought I fucked it all up,” David said. “I thought I took too long.”

“I waited,” Patrick murmured.

David searched Patrick’s face then looked like he found whatever he was looking for. He played with a button on Patrick’s shirt. “Stay?”

“Of course.”

They twined each other’s arms again. Not kissing, just breathing. Patrick closed his eyes and matched his breath to the rhythm of David’s chest.

“I love you, David.”

David’s chest rose high against Patrick’s cheek.

“You know I’ve only said that once to my parents and—”

“Once at a Judy Garland concert,” Patrick said. “I know.” He kissed David’s chin. “I don’t expect you to say it right now.”

“Good,” David said. “Because I…” Patrick held his breath, “appreciate your being here tonight.”

Patrick sighed and returned his head to David’s chest. “Okay, David.”

David’s hold on Patrick tightened. “Will you stay tonight?”

Patrick smiled.

“Always.”


	14. Life Will Always Be

Alexis walked into David’s apartment, followed by Ted, and tip-toed past a burly man carrying three boxes.

“What is going on here?”

“I’m moving out,” Stevie told her. She was clearly trying to not look like she was eyeing the movers’ technique as they walked out with her expensive furniture, but she wasn’t doing a great job.

“Oh my god!” Alexis clapped. “Patrick, does that mean you’re moving in?”

“No, I just, uh, spend a lot of time here,” he said. David stood behind Patrick, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist.

“Patrick’s here a lot doing that,” Stevie gestured to Patrick being gently swayed by David. “And I’d like to live somewhere less romantic and disgusting.”

“You could always move in with me, silly,” Alexis said.

Stevie glanced at Ted. “I feel like I’d be in a similar situation.”

“Yeah,” Ted said, “we do like to _pet_ in the apartment.”

Patrick felt David furiously shake his head. “Ew.”

“A few friends are renting a big place, so I grabbed one of the rooms.”

“A big place?” Alexis repeated. “It’s not… Brooklyn… is it?” She whispered “Brooklyn.”

“Do you really think your brother would let me do that?” 

Another mover passed with a small floral sofa.

“Hey, isn’t that my—” David began.

Stevie held up a hand. “Don’t worry, you can visit it anytime.” She turned back to Alexis. “Two girlfriends and I got a huge space in Hell’s Kitchen for a song. I shan’t wander far.”

“And how, Stevie Budd, starving artist, are you going to pay for this?” David asked, chin on Patrick’s shoulder.

Stevie sidled up to David, gently pushing Patrick out of the way. With huge eyes, she pawed at David’s arm, making puppy sounds. Her lip was in a pout.

David rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yes, I’ll always take care of you, you ungrateful succubus.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” Stevie said. “I just don’t say thank you.”

“You’re a monster,” David told her.

“You know your parents still give me an allowance, right?”

Alexis jumped up and down. “Oh! I knew that! She gets almost as much as I do.”

Patrick looked at David. “They really do that?” he asked quietly.

“It isn’t an _allowance_ ,” David said. “It’s a reasonable stipend for… being raised by wolves.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” Stevie said, flipping her hair in David’s face. She met the last of the movers by the door, signed some paperwork, and handed over a key and a pile of cash.

“I’ll think I’ll miss you most of all,” Stevie told him.

“Okay, there’s only two of us, so that’s hurtful,” David said.

“What about that cute little thing I’ve been seeing you with?” Alexis asked.

“Twyla? She moved back to Ontario. Guess she has a guy waiting for her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey.” Alexis stroked Stevie’s hair. Patrick secretly smiled each time Stevie allowed a display of affection—she’s a softie. Not that he’d dare tell her that.

“Yeah, she realized she could waitress anywhere, so she came to the big city.” Stevie shrugged. “Turns out the city wasn’t enough.”

“Well, who needs her anyway?” Alexis moved as if she were shaking off all memory of Twyla. She looped her arm through Stevie’s.

“Thanks,” Stevie said, leaning against Alexis. “I was ready to be in a _relationship_ with her.” She shuddered.

“They’re not so bad,” David said quietly.

“You shut it,” Stevie snapped, pointing at David. “I’ve pooled all my resources in the past few months trying to get this,” she pointed at Patrick, “to happen. So you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” Patrick said. They shared a look that he knew held all her sincerity, because it held all of his.

“Okay!” Stevie said, pulling away from Alexis. “So what are we doing? Your fifth wheel is hungry and ready to go!”

“Yeah, gang,” Ted said, “let’s _move_ out.”

Alexis giggled and slapped his arm.

“You guys go,” David said. “I think we’re staying in tonight.”

“We are?” Patrick asked, turning in his arms.

David nodded and kissed Patrick’s forehead.

Stevie groaned. “Ugh, you two are disgusting. We’re leaving.”

About ten minutes of arguing, freshening up, and general fanfare, the group left Patrick and David alone in the apartment.

David took Patrick in his arms and swayed.

“There’s no music,” Patrick whispered.

David nodded and pulled Patrick closer. “There doesn’t have to be.”

“So are we just gonna dance all night to nothing, or…”

David took Patrick’s hand. “Come on.”

David let him to his bedroom. He opened the door and Patrick gasped.

Covering the shelves, the bed, the floor, the lounge, were roses of all colors. In the center of the bed, among petals, was a chilled champagne bottle. David put on a Louis Armstrong record and “ _La Vie en rose_ ” played.

“What’s all this?” Patrick asked.

David walked back to him and put his hands on Patrick’s cheeks. He rested his forehead against Patrick’s.

“I’m sweeping you off your feet.”

“Oh?”

David took a step back, holding Patrick’s hands. Tears in his eyes, David looked at the floor, the ceiling, and finally at Patrick.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Patrick let out a little hysterical laugh. He’d thought of this moment for months, but had no idea if it would ever happen. The sun shone through David’s windows and the flowers perfumed the room.

The world expanded. It was bright and big and Patrick saw all of it. He saw an entire world with David.

Patrick kissed David, slow and sweet. He slipped his hands beneath David’s sweater, needing to feel more of him. He held David tight and opened his mouth. David whimpered and Patrick spun them around, backing David into the wall. He kissed David’s neck and David placed shaking fingers on Patrick's hair.

Patrick managed to tear his mouth from David’s.

“I love you,” he said, with more strength than he had in the past.

It was David’s turn to attack Patrick, furiously trying to yank their sweaters off.

Patrick glanced over his shoulder at the bed, covered in roses.

“How are we supposed to have sex on that thing?”

David pondered a moment, then grinned. “The couch! We don’t have a roommate anymore!”

_We_.

Patrick held David’s hand as they walked toward the world together.

_Give your heart and soul to me_   
_And life will always be  
La vie en rose_


End file.
